Subject: The D.J.Files…bits of a surfing life #7 MadDogDave – djmaddog.7 [1/1]
From: (D.Pritchard…Bear)
Date: 1 Oct 1996 23:13:46 GMT
Disclaimer: anyone who thinks they recognise themselves in any or all of
the ‘Files….well I’m sorry, but _you’re_ jus not like that!! 🙂
They are more-or-less fictional anyway…OK?
The D.J.Files #7
The British summer is nebulous thing. Some years it fails to arrive
at all; others it turns up early, or late, or a bit of both with a big wet
chilly hole in the middle. When there’s a nice warm spell late Aug/early
Sept everyone uses the phrase “Indian Summer”….a left over from the British
Raj (by Jove!)
And it’s such a September we find D.J.,Bear and a certain Mad-Dog-
Dave at Coney Beach. Funfair and stalls all closed up at season-end. It must
be in the low 20s (70s if you prefer fahrenheit). Out in the channel are
white caps, driven along by a lively Westerly. In behind a harbor wall, the
waves are bending and glassing off out of the wind. Peaks, favoring a right,
are lifting to head-high and best of all it’s a weekday, so only shiftworkers
and dole-bludgers are eligible for the paddle out. Apart from our ‘heroes’,
there are only 2 other surfers, a couple walking their dog and seagulls,
arguing over the spare pickings on the sand.
Bear takes off, cranks a bottom turn and falls straight into the
face. These are slow,easy waves, that have to be ridden with some tact and
coaxing. D.J.’s fluid and flexible surfing adapts easily and he glides over
the wave faces like an ice-skater on vallium. Mad-Dog’s only been surfing
less than a year. Well, he _should_ be surfing, but hasn’t quite got the
hang of it. Perhaps it’s something to do with his mind-body co-ordination.
There isn’t any.
The tidal changes around here make surf sessions short, but the
3 get a couple of hours on a warm, sheltered afternoon that has “Samba
Pa Ti” playing as the background music in God’s VCR version. The sun may
shine on the righteous, but these 3 reprobates are getting their unfair
share today. All sorta warm-and-fuzzy feeling they come out and get changed.
MadDog drives one of those cramped little British sports cars that
have very little ‘go’ in em. Mad-Dog-Dave _always_drives it top-down. In
fact the guys are not sure there _is_ a top for it. Snow-drifts, driving
rain, Mad Dog is oblivious. Throw the board in and he’s off. He’s just
about to do so when he notices that one of the corrugated metal stalls
has a loose corner panel. D.J. looks at Bear. Vice versa. Uh-oh, Mad-Dog’s
down on the ground prying open the panel. Shit there are _people_ about,
they think, glancing nervously up and down the street.
By now, Mad Dog is shoving back boxes like a wombat digging for
dinner. Shit, Dave, you can’t do that..and Bear and D.J. are throwing the
boxes back in! “Hey!, what’sa matter with you 2?” he says. And just then
one of those elderly busybodies that are compulsory in every street croaks
“Ere!, wot are you lot up to?…..I’m gonna call the police on ya!”
OH shit, that’s all we need…D.J. and Bear are piling into their respective
vehicles and turning the ignition….
“Hey, wait, you haven’t got your stuff!!” hollers MAd Dog and throws
several medium-sized cardboard boxes wildly thru the air in their direction.
Bear hears a thump on the side of his ol’Wolseley, but he’s off!
***
Oddly, neither of em ever saw Mad Dog after that day. Bear commented on
this a coupla weeks later when he was at D.J.’s after they’d been for a
surf together. “Yeah, wonder what happened to im..” said D.J. and then
“Wanna couple of blox of chocolate?” he grinned, pointing to a shelf-
full. Mad Dog had 3-pointed a box right thru the open panelvan window.
Lyonnesse Surf 