10:08am — 14th November 2009 •
Sitting it out, sitting on it, sitting under this rock pelting, shore-shaping weather. Three absorbed children of the eighties sitting inside of three wooden garden sheds - which leaked and the doors spoke in the high winds - the owner wasn’t anywhere to be seen and it made one wonder what she could be doing in Lacanau-Ocean, it was all boarded up. Then it collectively dawns - that well maybe she’s got a car and that people do still have cars and that they can drive around with fingers brazenly pointed at the clouds of thunder and sheets of rain, then go and visit their grandchildren or buy lotto tickets from the corner tabac store. More testings from God or whoever was conducting the whole orchestra, which was absolutely booming away on the sands, with gigantic swells rushing the beach - rounding out and foaming white, with no seagulls considering a lil’ ol’ whirly whirl above the crests. However! Like good old moonshiner’s, or something, the caravan rolls out the barrels and unleashes the soul distracting drink and then just throw your head out of that tiny gnome window and yell “GO ON THEN! KEEP BLOWING YOU BASTARD!” and even though the 50 knot winds whip that sentiment up and away it has still been said so there.
It simply must be done, a quick looky inside of an out of season beachside disco-tech. The beautiful sorrow and the wilting flowers staggering about the mostly empty dancefloor. Drunk kids and the chorus of out of town ladies celebrating one of the girls birthdays, idiotic jail bait being eyed by old bar-barracudas; all distorted in rotating primary colours - a nightmare of Hunteresque, proportions written in French. Bodean buys a round of international safety beer and nobodies drunk enough to handle all this sorrow and it’s kinda introspective to watch, and that’s way too deep for any member of the caravan.
And there’s the weather break. WHOP! Straight back into the fray and Hellybutt hits a pine cone on the road outta town and the trailer flips again. This time he’s ready and vaults over the handle bars landing on his feet and checking the boards are okay? Yes. What about the hands and bones? None broken - Good. Now swear enough to make all the world’s sailors blush and throw that pine cone back into the days of Napoleon’s first plantings. We then, calm as you like, reload those trailers and slink back into the forest.
