Like ants …
October 20, 2006
The afternoon is steely grey, and sits on the world like a damp sponge. The dull sky drips down into the ocean and there is not a ripple on the water. The beach is empty, as dog walkers disappear out of the drizzle. There is however about thirty thousand rubber clad surfers watching the horizon like a strange aquatic cult.
They sit upright, but partially submerged. Every now and then as the water shifts with the suggestion of a wave, a few of them plop down onto there shiny bellies and paddle around each other. They stalk the space inbetween others like predators ready to pounce if and when the water surges up into a face, down which they can slide and glide escaping the trappings of the crowd.
It is a strange ritual to witness, comical even. At a distance they are tiny their black regiment moving as one, like jungle ants.
