A siren calls out, as an ambulance and Royal National Lifeboat Institution turn up at the beach. \n\nYou take a sip of your coffee, and it's damn fine. You like the sound of ice cubes hit the side of the glass. As you look up, You notice a stretcher rush to the shoreline, to greet the life boat.
Red Flag
You decide to make some Vietnamese coffee in an Italian [[moka]]. The thought of the slow mixing of the condensed milk over hot coffee, and over the ice, makes you think of the surfer's body hammering onto the rocks beneath the surface of the sea.
You go home and make some [[coffee]]. \n\n\n\n
The receptionist takes it from here. You make coffee and settle for your view of the beach from your room. You notice a life guard get onto a boat and chase after the surfer, with a tannoy. He must be ok.
The Red flag indicates the sea is not safe. It's a warning. You shout to the swimmer, in case he missed it. But the swimmer does not turn around. A [[number]] for the RNLI and life guards is available underneath the Red Flag. You copy it and get back to the [[hotel]].
Perhaps it's a wave he wants to catch further into the [[sea]].
You have no reception/low battery. You head back to the [[hotel]].
You walk along a cliff-beach route by the sea, in Caerfai Bay, Wales. \nIt's cloudy, cold and looks like it might rain. \nThe sea is black and heavy loooking, but not violent. Still beautiful to look out. You park myself down to view it, wrap up warm, letting the wind whip your [[skin]].
Beach [[walk]], Wales. Fucking August, 2005.
It's a handwritten set of directions and predictions for a [[large wave]].
The radio documents the life of a sea creature. You came to it late, but the creature sounds bad ass. \n\nAs you consider how 'bad ass' you are for making some fine coffee, you get back to viewing the beach scene at the point at which a body is placed onto a stretcher and rushed into the back of an ambulance that carts it off.
Looking around, there's a [[red flag]] on the beach, fluttering and stretched on occasions by the commanding wind.
The sea is dark grey, with white scratches along the surface. Like a fluid stone.\n\nThe man is still paddling. I notice his pile of clothes flapping on the windy, empty beach. \n\nYou get up and walk the windy route down the cliff side. \n\nYou manage to find myself near the side of the man's clothes. You go over to the sea but cannot see him. But you can see his clothes back behind you on the beaach. \nYou go over to his [[clothes]].\nYou walk [[home]].
You sit there a while, listening to the sea and wind. To see the grey clouds move past. You notice a man down below, on the beach to the right. In one move almost, he takes his clothes off, walks to the shoreline, mounts his surfboard, and begins to [[paddle]] away into the sea.
Jameela Khan
The view of the beach, and the surfers clothes. You think you see the note fluttering in a similar pattern to the red flag. \n\nYou think twice about hurrying out, as you feel useless, and understand that the life boat team and ambulance have it covered. You refrain from complicating the situation with your story of walking passed the mans clothes. You hope the wind has wiped away your foot prints, and that no-one saw you.
You unscrew and add the ground coffee beans to the moka, then pour in hot water. You begin to make the coffee. Once made, you take it to the chair by the window and sip, and listen to the [[radio]] over the waves crashing outside. You can just about [[view]] the man's clothes on the beach. \n\nA [[siren]] calls out, and the same section of beach fills up with uniformed people.
His clothes are heaped. No order to their removal. A piece of [[paper]] hidden in his pockes, flaps in the wind.