Buster arthritically bunny hops flight after flight of stairs as the shade chases us down the cliff towards the beach. It's been an afternoon of slow roasted lamb, couscous and red wine while watching sea stained brown with sand churned towards the top. On the way we make a pact not to tell them that we stopped at McDonalds to feed our hangovers, but it doesn't matter: the lamb too good and our hangovers very hungry. We all have seconds, and then almond cake.
Before the beach we pass a tent in a clearing and Danielle says it's been there for days. She says that she heard them doing circle work last night, the hooligans, and there is tyre track evidence.
We're only walking on the sand but within minutes LT is swamped by a wave and wet trousers cling to her calves. Warwick's camera is new and the best shot is of Andreas holding a string of amber seaweed up to his chin, like a beard. It echoes the ZZ Top version he plans to grow in time for his fiftieth birthday.
On the beach, Buster is a different dog, forgetting his achy spine. He runs with a stick and we throw it for him a couple of times. We walk to the point where the shade of the headland has come across the beach and they stop to chat to a local. It's only been minutes but the shadow has raced along the sand and we head back towards the sunshine, past the man with the kite, and collect our shoes.
At the clearing we notice clothes strewn up on shrubs by the tent. It seems deserted and we play at detective and talk about alerting the local authorities. There's a heavy spanner on the ground in the centre of the doughnut. Andreas unzips the tent's door and we peer in. There's bedding and a back-pack and a red petrol can, and it looks kind of messy.
The police don't come out here they say. A while ago, when someone was throwing rocks at the house they phoned the police but they didn't come. They just called back a couple of days later to make sure that everything was alright. It's policing from a distance. Andreas says he likes it that way when he's driving.
Before the beach we pass a tent in a clearing and Danielle says it's been there for days. She says that she heard them doing circle work last night, the hooligans, and there is tyre track evidence.
We're only walking on the sand but within minutes LT is swamped by a wave and wet trousers cling to her calves. Warwick's camera is new and the best shot is of Andreas holding a string of amber seaweed up to his chin, like a beard. It echoes the ZZ Top version he plans to grow in time for his fiftieth birthday.
On the beach, Buster is a different dog, forgetting his achy spine. He runs with a stick and we throw it for him a couple of times. We walk to the point where the shade of the headland has come across the beach and they stop to chat to a local. It's only been minutes but the shadow has raced along the sand and we head back towards the sunshine, past the man with the kite, and collect our shoes.
At the clearing we notice clothes strewn up on shrubs by the tent. It seems deserted and we play at detective and talk about alerting the local authorities. There's a heavy spanner on the ground in the centre of the doughnut. Andreas unzips the tent's door and we peer in. There's bedding and a back-pack and a red petrol can, and it looks kind of messy.
The police don't come out here they say. A while ago, when someone was throwing rocks at the house they phoned the police but they didn't come. They just called back a couple of days later to make sure that everything was alright. It's policing from a distance. Andreas says he likes it that way when he's driving.
posted by noonie at 8:51 AM
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