Recently, I returned from a seaside holiday with my family.
The holiday was one of those magical times where everything came together.
We were truly blessed with weather, location, excitement and an amazing sense of togetherness, which we all now miss.
We’d never been to this particular beach before, and we got there at peak time – people everywhere, cars parked randomly all over the place and everyone was so keen to lay back, forget every day life and enjoy themselves.
That first morning, wandering down to the beach through the gap in the cliffs, the noise, colour and just the sheer number of people exploded into Mayhem.
Everyone got on, there was no aggro, there was sharing, there was friend-making, there was just the most brilliant environment and everyone was enjoying it.
So – mayhem beach – here we are. I hope you enjoy.
There’s an audio file and a text version, too.
There’s a riot at Mayhem Beach: colour, noise, folk,
nationality; there’s folk here form every
nation, every creed, every walk – all sorts,
with beach equipment, yelling children, racing games,
weekend seaside pandemonium factory.
Folk cluster in neighbour-wary groups, Umbrella’d
shelters demark towel-territory – Dad’s bagged
a spot in the morning rush-wrestle, bikini
glance-furtive until Mother arrives with post-toast
kids, swim gear clad, sea-keen, bucket-castle ready.
Sun-shiny novice grown-ups frisbee-posture swank-
parade in clique-centric bands, aiming to attract
kudos-glances in one-up gameship, instinct
protective of designer-kini’d fashion-femmes
pulling looks, feigning provocation-innocence.
Beach-alphas sand-push sack trolleys of picnic goods,
installing barbecues in shelter-enclaves, by
grub-trestles groaning with beach-food; cold-box ice-drip
beers mouth-water onlookers palette-jealous;
beach alphas rule, snarling at all emulators.
Keen-to-be-seen trendies gaggle over sand-warm
beer, daring not to drink, avoiding flip-flop splash
toilet-ponk gag-trauma; thump-thump music denotes
sub-arenas of cool, each den superior
to peers, each den conscious of lame reality.
Don’t-give-a-hoots show off bellies and boobs, saggy
legs and fat necks, sprawling unchallenged across vast
acres of sand: tents, shelters and blow-up sofa,
reclining with ice-cream, chocolate and cola,
sharing glance-giggles over children playing tag.
Panama-grumps keep heads in papers, deducing
beach-time a waste of theirs, fulfilling duties as
driver, fetcher, toilet accompanier,
following the Test, fetching lollies, satisfied
child-activities are better led by Mother.
Mayhem-beach’s riots melt folk into a pot
of sharing, glancing, fun-hungry humanity,
collaborating in anarchy-bliss, using
seaside escapism to re-tap peace, heading
home rebuilt, re-energised, hoping to return.