First Of The Four Noble Truths

The moving thing is buried in the seaweed which is undulating gently in the shallows.

Ray takes off his shoes and socks.

Carefully he skirts the seaweed and approaches the mysterious formation from behind.

A sea urchin! Gaius will be interested in that.

Ray steps forward. But wait! It looks dangerously spiky.

Ray goes back the way he came to get his sock.

Ray returns to his advantageous position, sock at the ready.

The seaweed swirls and surges round his feet like leafy brown spaghetti. The spikes of the sea urchin click like living chop sticks.

Ouch!

Here is an example of how the best laid plans can go cactus.

Ray has stepped on a second, less obvious sea urchin, and a spike has lodged itself inside his foot.

He hops over to the sand and sits down heavily.

Schopenhauer is too far out to notice. He is about to try and stand up on his board.

Right? says Matzo. Steady? Try and catch the next one.... aww! You missed it.

I meant to miss it, says Schopenhauer. The next one looks even bigger.

A wave comes up behind him. He is ready.

Schopenhauer catches the wave and rides it all the way in to the shore.

Cooleo! says Fling. He's a natural.

On the beach Schopenhauer spots Ray picking at his injury.

Did you see me come in? says Schopenhauer.

No, says Ray. I've got an injury.

Life is suffering, says Schopenhauer sympathetically, just as Matzo and Fling come in on the next wave.

Life is suffering is it? says Ray. That's bloody helpful.

First of the Four Noble Truths, says Fling.

You got something in your foot? says Matzo.

At this point Arthur arrives, with Gaius.

Got something in your foot, Ray? asks Gaius.

YES! shouts Ray. Has anyone got some TWEEZERS?

Arthur rummages in his pocket, for the sewing kit.

Needles! says Ray. Forget it! Just help me off the beach.

Leaning heavily on Arthur he limps up to the seawall.

Thank you Arthur, says Ray. Now will you please go and get the Ute.

It's just up the road, says Arthur.

You don't want to go, says Ray. I know you. What is it?

My bicycle! cries Schopenhauer, seeing the Platonic Ideal propped up against the seawall. What's it doing here?

Fling is about to say 'Maybe it's psychic'.

But the look on Schopenhauer's face tells him that wouldn't go down well.