‘Twas Just a Dream – Part Four


Four of the natives looked as if they were (but weren’t) surfing while blind drunk, two were solid surfers and the girls’ abilities lay somewhere in between.

It was still fun to be surfing with more people out, and . . . at once arousing and aggravating to see women after more than a week not.

All in all they were there for a good time, just like us.

Things only got a bit heated when one of their antipodean women-folk clambered aboard Just Dreaming, which caused them to circle our yacht with their “Feral Boat” and yell at us to return her.

I had to hear about this later though, as I’d decided on one last, after two others that day, surf.

Having a lot of time between set waves out there in lonely warm waters stretching into the Indian Ocean, I had plenty of time to think.

About not just the common appreciation of how shrunken this world is now due to humankind’s communication and travel technology, but the fruits such a fact can bear.

About a war of guilt and elation within my skull over how spoilt I was right at that moment and how stupid I was to have not indulged in it earlier and more often.

About how simultaneously tired (I barely slept the whole time), eight days of drinking hung-over and quite simply surfed-out I was.

About the fact the sun had set in a dramatic display of nature’s beauty and the equally beautiful Just Dreaming was itself setting-sail past me about half a kilometre out into the bay.

Wait, what?

That’s right: the bastards were, in jest I would find out and did anticipate, leaving without me.

I was just starting to wonder where I would get water on the island and if I needed to sleep in a tree in order to avoid a possible tiger attack while paddling futilely after the boat, when Civvy jumped into the zodiac and rescued me.

We celebrated my humiliation and a supremely successful surfing sojourn with a couple of drinks.

A couple of drinks only, because we had each somehow managed while surfing an average of two and a half times every day to drink all 600 cans of beer and five bottles of rum on the yacht.

Many of those beers were used by some of us to numb our fear ahead of surfing “The Palm”, which was of course a mistake.

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