Life's a Beach

I am stranded among the beach monkeys. Watching as they skip over the sun-drenched sand with their long sandy hair, tanned sandy skin, hand in sandy hand. I'm feeling a little outta place. True my hair is long, but it's dyed blond rather than the real deal. I order a beer and end up with a coke. We talk to two preteen wannabes about nightlife on the Newquay. The wind's dead and the surf's flat. As it's day four of a very highly corporate endorsed international surf competition this is not the ideal. Perhaps in a more laid back sunshine state the kids would laugh it off, throw a frisbee and build a fire. In Newquay they set off to vandalise a local golf course and leave their lobster pink parents to whinge and singe in the sunshine. The organisers gaze on in horror, having realised the collosal disadvantage of staging a surf event in England is the possibility of the English turning up.