weird city


Guess what? Another offshore all day vibe in the SW of Gaul yesterday, rarer than a white rhino with a penny black stamp on his left buttock and a faberge egg in his brown.

The pleasure zone was Seignosse, hallowed sands of. A stiff offshore, born somewhere in the Tunisian highlands, hotter and drier than the surface of Mars puffed and gusted all after noon, blew in the sun and swells face all day, rendering a small yet perfectly formed groundswell into A-frame delight up and down the sweltering sand pit.

A space ship landed sometime around mid-morning, bringing a small crew of cadets and sergeants of the cosmic fruitcake arts. Fred Compagnon, sporting beavertail customised wetsuit and with impressive beard and long hair at not looking just a little bit like Jesus of Nazareth was out on one of his homemade alaias. I tried to paddle for a wave on it, but sunk.

Space Yogi Fred de Nazarethbreton doesn’t mind a bit of experimental equipment. This is the same cat who fixes a nose cone onto the front of boogieboards and stand ups in shacks at la piste. This time he had a small alaia (the smallest of 3 he had on the beach) with a tow strap fixed for the front foot. Him and his bro mount a large red SUP, with him standing using the paddle, foot in the strap of the alaia rested on the deck of the SUP, with his bro behind lying down and paddling. They stroke into a wave, Fred leaps of and shreds down the line, putting in a couple of New Testament twirlies and others. Now some may understandably scoff at this equipment bumfoolery, even myself on another day, but word has it that Commandante Fruitloupe did exactement la meme chose a la graviere last week on that thick, heavy swell and got shacked out of his mind. As we all know, there’s no arguing with the weirdo in the tube. Apparently he came out of a heavy, thick lipped pit, and then skiied another 30 yards over flat water after his kickout. Alaia Galilee spacewalk. Nearby floated two thousand dead fish.

I pushed a kid into a wave. He was having a surf ‘lesson’, whereby the instructor stood on the beach arms folded wetsuit down to his waist with sunnies on, more voyeurism than instructionism. Kid smiled. I asked him for his mum’s PIN number. A guy started moaning at me, as I was atop a foam decked Bic catching multiple thrills whilst he bog paddled his awful, unsuitable craft. I asked him if he wanted a go on the bic, get a couple why not. We became friends. We hugged it out on the beach while the fiercely warm offshore tickled the salt crystals on top of my earlobes.

How To Live Your Life was on tv late last night. How I chuckled. After 4 hours sleep I dawn patrolled Fix’s dental surgery in Anglet, where the drills made my eyes water and cold sweat ran down my sides and made a puddle in my belly button. It’s raining today.


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