At Two Sits

We went to Semaphore today, for a picnic. We sat in the sandhills eating rolls. Half way between us and the sea a small brown dog escaped from its woman and its man. It ran after a seagull. The woman shouted Robby! The man jumped up. I didn't know if he was Robby, or the dog. The seagull flew away. The dog ran back. They failed to catch it. Eventually it let them. The man placed the dog on the woman's back. It fell off. They played some more with the dog, in a surprisingly clumsy way.

We walked towards the Largs jetty. There was a cool breeze and a hot sun. It was scenic and nice. There were boats and people, dogs. A sand man, made of sand. Seaweed, tidal pools and gulls. Under the jetty someone had hung three arty beachbags from a horizontal beam, and left a pair of pretty high heels in the shade.

We sat down in the sandhills. A little boy came past, with his grandad. They had a model plane and a multi-coloured kite. The little boy threw the plane up into the breeze. It swooped and bombed. He tried again, without much luck.The grandad assembled the kite. Together they attached the strings. They backed away from the kite towards the sea. A gust of wind took it up. The grandad was controlling both the strings but the little boy was holding one as well so the grandad's job was tricky.

The little boy's mum, grandma and older brother arrived on the beach. The brother played with the model plane. Then the kite bombed into the sand. The grandma ran towards it, then she stopped. The brother said, I'll get it! He held it up. Other way! yelled grandad. The brother twisted the kite round and held it above his head at an awkward angle . The wind took it and grandad jerked the string. The kite took off. The brother shouted, Mum! Look how high I made it go!

Marie's List

The philosophers are at Semaphore Beach, the day after seeing their final Fringe show, Free Fall. They are walking along in the shallows, which are patterned with a fine brown silt.

Belle et Bonne: I feel a little sad today. We have no more shows to go to. Soon it will be time to go home.

Marie: Me too. But Free Fall was good, wasn't it.

Belle et Bonne: It was magic. I was totally entranced.

The VeloDrone: So was I! In fact, I feel like doing a somersault!

Le Bon David; Don't, Vello! You're not as young as those young acrobats last night.

The VeloDrone: No need to remind me. Ah the young! So fearless and brave, so beautiful. So heartbreaking.

Belle et Bonne: I know what you mean, papa. But it's not that they're fearless. They faced up to their fears.

Marie: What did you say when they asked you what you were afraid of?

Belle et Bonne: I said, losing my sense of smell.

The VeloDrone: Really? I sometimes wish I could lose mine. Such as when we were having a drink in the alley bar next to the drain.

Le Bon David: Yes that was a bit on the nose. What are you afraid of Vello?

The VeloDrone: I'm afraid of being thought a fool.

Le Bon David: You ought to have got used to it by now! Just joking. Shall I tell you what I'm afraid of?

Marie: Women.

Le Bon David: How do you know?

Marie: Because you are always excessively polite to them.

Le Bon David: Hum hum. Oh well they always say if you want to understand a philosopher you must first find out what he is afraid of. What are you afraid of Marie?

Marie: Oh, quicksand, drowning, burning, and dogs.

Belle et Bonne: That's impressive, Marie! You must be the best philosopher of us all.

Good Remembering

It's not last Saturday but the Saturday before. Can I really go back that far in time and remember it well?

It's very hot and we've driven all the way down to Semaphore. We've crossed the road and the beachfront carpark, walked down the track through the sand dunes and onto the beach.

There are people there, it is still hot even at the beach. We walk into the sea taking our shoes off first. Now this is the part I want to remember.

We're standing in the water. It's sunny and above us the sky is blue. Yellow electrical patterns crisscross the warm tea green sea. Clouds build in the northern quarter of the sky. They're roiling and boiling, they're cumulus, nimbus, cirrus and stratus all tumbling together, advancing as fast as a bus. Not a fast bus.

They'll soon be directly overhead.

It's nice in the water. We are up to our waists, no, not quite, looking towards the horizon.

The horizon is playing an optical trick, either that or the sea level has dropped.

We look at the puzzling line. Ships move along it, it fritters away at one end. We discuss these things.

When next we look up, the approaching clouds in the northern quarter of the sky have stopped moving. In fact they look to me like they have started moving backwards. This is puzzling too.

Yes, good remembering by me.

Jesus' Diary - Part 3

Would you two like to come to the beach with us this afternoon? I asked Jesus and Pliny the Elder.

The beach? said Pliny, looking doubtful.

Yes we would, said Jesus. I like going to the beach. Are we taking a picnic?

Yes we are, I said. Get ready. We're leaving at half past twelve.

Some time later we were walking along the beach at Semaphore, at low tide. Silvery channels of water dribbled into the sea, and seagulls stood in them, preening. We could see their reflections upside down under their feet.

Look, said Jesus. They look as though they're walking on water.

So they do, said Pliny. You are most observant. You would make a good natural historian.

Perhaps I would, sighed Jesus, but I never write anything down.

Well what's stopping you? I asked. I remember last year you were thinking of starting a diary.

I was, said Jesus. I even bought a diary. But I couldn't think of anything to write.

Nonsense, said Pliny. Just write down your observations.

Who would want to read them? asked Jesus.

Lots of people, said Pliny firmly.

Perhaps I will have another go, said Jesus.

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.)

At the Interface

Another hot day. We went to Semaphore. We thought we might go in the water, and wore our swimming things just in case.

The sand was hot. We took off our shoes. How then had we known that the sand was hot? They were not proper shoes.

The sea was tepid and green. Fat people bobbed in the shallows. Three ladies and a man in a stockman's hat. Nine seagulls flew southwards over their heads. Eleven terns flew north. Perhaps I have remembered this wrong.

The terns looked like seagulls wearing unconvincing black hairpieces. Thirty nine of them stood on the shore. Something was afoot.

We walked towards the Semaphore jetty, in the water up to our knees. The middle of the jetty was missing. This was new. Boys were jumping off at the gap, and clambering up the other side. We could see them, in the distance.

Two yachts, on the near horizon, with cream and grey sails like moths' wings, seemed to touch one another lightly.

I looked down at the water and was shocked to see lines of Japanese calligraphy. It was seaweed, tiny brown and black pieces like brushstrokes, floating on the surface of the water. They said, if I read them correctly: Here is the interface, here, and here, and here.

We took the plunge. Immersed ourselves in the sea. It was cold, because our skin was hot. We gasped. And wallowed. Only the interface matters.

I flapped my hands under the water which moved like jelly.