The Rocks Below
a protest song
by nigel p bird
Unlucky For Some
Sam Surf had been looking after his children all day. He’d spent the afternoon cooped up indoors changing nappies and cleaning up the kitchen. Nightmare. With his kids they’d made a batch of burnt muffins, a cake that came out soggy in the middle and a load of jam tarts from which the jam seemed to have decided to abandon ship and spread itself all over the baking tray. Next time he was in charge, he was going to stick to DVDs, books and the dressing up box.
What made it all worse was the weather forecast. Tonight was going to be the biggest storm on the East coast for many years, at least according to the weather-girl.
For Sam, big storms meant big surf and, other than his family, the waves were what he lived for.
When his wife returned home after a hard day in the classroom, he filled her in on the details of the baking, the who’d done what to whom and the number of nappies that had needed changing.
“ If I’m not back by 5:30, make the calls,” he said as he pecked her on the cheek and pulled the door behind him.
The light was already fading and he’d need to be quick if he wanted to have some fun. He ran down the concrete steps, leaped into his Sam’s Surf ’s Cool work van and sped off to the beach.
When he arrived, he sat in the passenger seat and twisted his hairy arms and legs this way and that until he managed to get them inside his wetsuit. The engine was still running and he enjoyed the current of hot air that tumbled from the fans in the dashboard.
As soon as he got on his rubber balaclava and rubber boots, he switched the engine off and jumped out of the van into the elements.
From this point, he was working against the clock - the sooner he could get to the water the better.
He ran to the back of the van, battling against the wind, pulled out his board and slammed the door shut. It was a shame that he only had the 6 footers with him – they might be perfect for Dunbar most of the year round, but with gales like the ones forecast, he knew that an extra foot would make all the difference. Still, it was all he had for the moment and he wasn’t going to miss this ride, not for anything.
After locking the van doors, he put the keys on top of the wheel on the driver’s side and set off.
To anyone watching, he must have looked like an alien being with his perfectly smooth black body, shiny bald head and the board tucked under his arm. Thing was, there was no one around to see anything – the weather warnings had made sure of that.
When Sam left the protection of the trees and stepped onto the salt marsh, the wind battered his body. It meant his legs had to work twice as hard as usual to get him half the distance with each step. Not that a little thing like the weather was going to stop him. He’d surfed in the dangerous, icy waters of the northern coasts many a time and that was a testing ground for any boarder.
It wasn’t long before he left the dunes with their sharp, dry grasses and landed on the soft clean sand of the beach.
The tide was on its way and he didn’t have far to go until his feet met the edges of the sea. He sprinted in like he was a child and this was mid-summer.
Stopping for a moment, he attached the Velcro strap around his ankle so that he wouldn’t be separated from the board and looked up at the sky.
It was only then that he doubted the wisdom of his trip. The clouds stretched across the heavens in an angry shade of grey all the way from Dunbar to the Kingdom of Fife and it was only at the horizon that the pink glow of the sunset managed to survive. The lighthouse on the Bass Rock was already flashing brightly in the gloom as if it were pleading for help. The waves were crashing on cliffs and rocks in the
a protest song
by nigel p bird
Unlucky For Some
Sam Surf had been looking after his children all day. He’d spent the afternoon cooped up indoors changing nappies and cleaning up the kitchen. Nightmare. With his kids they’d made a batch of burnt muffins, a cake that came out soggy in the middle and a load of jam tarts from which the jam seemed to have decided to abandon ship and spread itself all over the baking tray. Next time he was in charge, he was going to stick to DVDs, books and the dressing up box.
What made it all worse was the weather forecast. Tonight was going to be the biggest storm on the East coast for many years, at least according to the weather-girl.
For Sam, big storms meant big surf and, other than his family, the waves were what he lived for.
When his wife returned home after a hard day in the classroom, he filled her in on the details of the baking, the who’d done what to whom and the number of nappies that had needed changing.
“ If I’m not back by 5:30, make the calls,” he said as he pecked her on the cheek and pulled the door behind him.
The light was already fading and he’d need to be quick if he wanted to have some fun. He ran down the concrete steps, leaped into his Sam’s Surf ’s Cool work van and sped off to the beach.
When he arrived, he sat in the passenger seat and twisted his hairy arms and legs this way and that until he managed to get them inside his wetsuit. The engine was still running and he enjoyed the current of hot air that tumbled from the fans in the dashboard.
As soon as he got on his rubber balaclava and rubber boots, he switched the engine off and jumped out of the van into the elements.
From this point, he was working against the clock - the sooner he could get to the water the better.
He ran to the back of the van, battling against the wind, pulled out his board and slammed the door shut. It was a shame that he only had the 6 footers with him – they might be perfect for Dunbar most of the year round, but with gales like the ones forecast, he knew that an extra foot would make all the difference. Still, it was all he had for the moment and he wasn’t going to miss this ride, not for anything.
After locking the van doors, he put the keys on top of the wheel on the driver’s side and set off.
To anyone watching, he must have looked like an alien being with his perfectly smooth black body, shiny bald head and the board tucked under his arm. Thing was, there was no one around to see anything – the weather warnings had made sure of that.
When Sam left the protection of the trees and stepped onto the salt marsh, the wind battered his body. It meant his legs had to work twice as hard as usual to get him half the distance with each step. Not that a little thing like the weather was going to stop him. He’d surfed in the dangerous, icy waters of the northern coasts many a time and that was a testing ground for any boarder.
It wasn’t long before he left the dunes with their sharp, dry grasses and landed on the soft clean sand of the beach.
The tide was on its way and he didn’t have far to go until his feet met the edges of the sea. He sprinted in like he was a child and this was mid-summer.
Stopping for a moment, he attached the Velcro strap around his ankle so that he wouldn’t be separated from the board and looked up at the sky.
It was only then that he doubted the wisdom of his trip. The clouds stretched across the heavens in an angry shade of grey all the way from Dunbar to the Kingdom of Fife and it was only at the horizon that the pink glow of the sunset managed to survive. The lighthouse on the Bass Rock was already flashing brightly in the gloom as if it were pleading for help. The waves were crashing on cliffs and rocks in the
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