Beach Crap

Published by: Mat on 5th Jul 2018 | View all blogs by Mat

Beach Crap

by brightonsauce

Give it a polish later on x/ end fix is ‘winding me up.’

I pursued simple duties at the shoreline –

–  and collected a condom from the sand, and a soft turd laid anonymously on the beach steps.  How we never catch them at it, is our mantra..in the business.  I curled  these evacuees, these victims – together in my fist like in some very progressive partnership, in hand – and I returned to the office –  after visiting our dustbins.  I think I did, I’ll have to check our CCTV… [no GOOD, no, edit]

When two lads bundled into that office.

‘There he is,’ they said, ‘that’s the bastard.’

They wanted to fight me, or to stab me – due to some slur I never even made…or considered – ever.

Our scene unfolded with shouting, jabbering, jabbing, and accusation.  I stood from the wheelie-chair, I talked them down from their rage,

‘Gentlemen…’ I said..

to the two men bouncing in their tracksuits.

So, a respect was shared. And over.

But for a moment in that stand-off it nearly did ‘kick-off,’ mightily. There mightily have been blood on our walls.

To my shame, for one brief instant, the thought–

‘I’ll kill you both before you kill me,’

did pass through my mind – but not for long, your honours.

And I did not mention that passing thought/that spike of hell – in my mind – in my official report on the hotmail.

Conclusion – they did not kill me, I did not kill them, neither.

Still, I, for one, remain an arsehole forever.  As I said to the 20 stone deckchair attendant, our Roly Polaroid

‘Always run…in these situations.’

He said nothing to my advice.  He only stared, and he swallowed.

But,  back in the previous scene.  Was the ruffian carrying a knife?  Why keep your hand in the pocket?  Why, walk out and swiftly return to my office?  Were you unfolding your blade?  [my, how this imagination spins..]

Meanwhile, I shook hands with the other fellow, his compatriot.  Eye to eye, I did it, chaps, and defused the apocalypse, obviously.

After the ‘yobbos’ – somebody’s word, no – criminals, no – they were young guys – after they left I harboured horrible adrenaline, and sadness.    I’ll have to watch out for the tracksuit man – catching my bus home – my god, like adolescence, like my 1983 revisited.

The next day I drank coffee early in the morning with the sunlight on my cheek,

‘Ahhh,’

a bright, happy morning, as an old gentleman strolled into the office without his spectacles.  I, of course as a public servant read the tide times for him.  And he was, I sensed,  lonely, and he hadn’t expressed a while, and people do need to share, and they should, and he said:

‘You know, mate…

…on July 17th, 2006, I was walking down this very beach down there.

…That’s the moment when my dog foamed at the mouth, and we both looked skyward, and literally fifty feet over our heads an enormous flying saucer hovvered, all silent and powerful.

…I told Julie at the book-makers, she said that was probably the third space ship she’d heard about in the last five years.  So, what do you think, pal?’ he said.

There has, you see, been plenty of action – going on-down – in my lifestyle.

Self-consciousness about being a ‘cockney’ in the North of England has now mainly disappeared.  I am step by step stealing father’s Yorkshire dialect, the one that  emerged on the motorway rides toward Bridlington.  It is a lovely job, keeping a beautiful place beautiful –  and I make a grand display with the turds – like theatre – [not Brid, apols], and talking to the oldies on their strolls, I love them also, very much.

And also the problem with a horrible story, that one back there – is that you share it, and repeat your boreface to colleagues – and really one should bite one’s tongue off, and spit it out.  Now, you understand my confusion?  But I do have a good friend on the bouncy castles [pertinent].  And, as is never the way with these things, he’s some kind of professor-intellectual, a cricket man.  We trade stories.

His story

The fairground inspector was on his way – any moment now, and the horses were polished, and spinning, the castle inflated, the teacups empty.  And the gate closed.  So, when a middle-aged civilian-man arrived at this gate with his infant in tow, and said –

‘Can we have a ride, please?’

He said, ‘You’ll have to wait for one hour, I have the inspector on his way…’

The chap replied – ‘What kind of jobsworth fucker are you? I am going to smash your face in…and what about my little kiddy riding teacups?  You prick, and molester and I hope you die screaming in flames,’ and so on…

Our chap was most taken aback.  Even so, a year later on, this fairground man felt emboldened enough to visit a distant pub, and he ordered a round of drinks.

The barman placed the five pints on the counter.

‘You can have these ones on me, sir,’ he said.

‘Oh.’

‘You don’t recognise me, do you? .. I was the fool with his child.

… I want to say to you, now – how dreadfully sorry I shall always remain for my behaviour of a year ago – and how I worry about that day – on every other single day, on every other morning.  Can I do for you, one thing, anything at all ever, please? Tell me now, sir…yours, in  my apology, and with my most sincerest of respects…’

‘Thank you,’ said the fairground man.  He chewed his cheek in a  great rumination, and said….’five packets of your salt and vinegar crisps,’ he said, ‘and two pickled eggs.’

(and) All the best

Mat 

Comments

3 Comments

  • Athelstone
    by Athelstone 15 days ago
    What a heartwarming tale of contrition and redemption. I look forward to your next instalment.
  • BellaM
    by BellaM 12 days ago
    A cracking tale.

    "like adolescence, like my 1983 revisited" - a great line. So much said in so few words.
  • Dolly
    by Dolly 11 days ago
    Hi Mat, its Dolly, and I'm still waiting for you to rescue me from the fog when you were a Beach God, and that was at the end of May! My beard is now even bushier than it was before and is now just below my collar bone. I've had to replace the earplugs because of the never ending foghorns. On top of that, I'm down to my last wedge of cake. The situation is looking desperate, but I think I can hold out until tomorrow. I don't want to wander forever in the fog, only for my ragged clothed body to be found by a passing treasure hunting beachcomber.
Please login or sign up to post on this network.
Click here to sign up now.

Subscribe

Getting Published


Twitter

Visitor counter



Literature


 

Blog Roll Centre

Books

Blog Hints

Blog Directory