Perth is divided into two separate groups. Those who go to Scarborough Beach and those who do not go to Scarborough Beach. For the devoted, the eclectic vibe of aggressive African youths, steroid-jacked turbos and pre-teens wearing scandalous swimwear just can’t be beaten. The rest of us? We prefer to kick it on Port Beach with an esky and some personal space.
Lana drops her husband off at the airport in their Dodge Nitro. Grant will be away digging holes in the Pilbara while Lana gets day-drunk in and around the Scarborough beachfront. A harmonious marriage really. Lana arrives back home and changes into a colourful bikini, a white flowing summer dress and some tacky brown ankle-strap heels that she bought from Betts & Betts. Her excessive tanning has given her a look that can be best described as either a rotten banana or a full-blown Melanoma. Workin’ it girl.
Lana is pumped. She has a ticket to Sets on the Beach. The premier event for the Northern beach dwellers. Her aim for the day is very simple, be included in as many “professional” photographs as humanly possible. In reality, most of the blokes walking around with cameras are only posting them on their desperate fashion blogs. It is important that Lana is photographed, her self esteem is as fleeting as the discounted spray tan she gets from the local beauty school. She dances the day away to watered down electronic music spun by fluoro-wearing hipster DJs. OMG, I LOVE POTBELLEEZ.
Lana heads to the Sand Bar afterwards to talk loudly with her girlfriends about how glamorous Perth’s northern suburbs are. In reality, Scarborough Beach has become a cold sore on the lip of beautiful coast. The waiter comes over, “I’ll have some Fet-oo-Chini and a glass of Mo-ayyyyy”. The waiter leaves, she turns to her flock of plastic-surgery victims, “real housewives of Scabs only drink the french shit, ay” Lord help us.