How to Surf

Pliny and Nostradamus are walking on the beach, between Semaphore South and Largs, wearing jackets they don't need, and hats.

The sea is jiggling and glinting like glutinous soup. Twenty two yachts with shadowy sails race slowly. A dinghy with an outboard motor and a canopy floats while the occupants fish.

The sand is sharp with fingernail shells and the dead seagrass waits in sculpted mounds.

The shallows are pink and green, and clear, revealing black seaweed archipelagoes, over which two small boys are drifting on foam bodyboards.

Excuse me! calls the littlest one.

Yes? say Pliny and Nostradamus.

Could you please show us how to surf?

You need to wait for a wave, says Pliny, helpfully. There are some out there, they'll soon be coming in.

Why? asks the little one.

It's what they do, says Pliny.

You'd do better up the beach a bit, says Nostradamus. The waves are bigger there.

But Pliny says, No no. Don't send them. (For their mum might not be pleased.)