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Grib

The Beach

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There had been many people come and gone over the years. Some just left and did other things – never looking back. Others preferred to leave in a blaze of er, glory, forever and ever type thing. Only to return (yawn) yet again!

 

There was a lot of spitting out of the dummy, as the saying goes, on these beaches.

 

Right now, however Grib (for it is I) knew how they felt. Not normally one for the third person autobiographical but this was an exception. Grib had received a warning. He had been drinking some of that there coconut brew and had decided to do a bit of trolling and getting up to some antics the previous night. He had used a kind of clone name beginning with the letter “s” (for it is not wise to refer to the full name on this particular beach).

 

For the crime of talking what the head honcho had perceived as complete and utter gibberish, and even that to himself, a warning had been issued to Grib, complete with a “we know where your ip lives” threat.

 

This had greatly upset the Grib and although greatly ashamed at not speaking intelligible and forthright debate as most surely he should, he had never in all his forum career received a yellow card.

 

So that evening when all were sat around the beach fire, he stood up and spoke:

 

“I’m going for a walk, er I mean a swim . . . I may be some time” he said dramatically, Captain Oates of the Arctic style.

 

He quickly glanced for reaction. There were stern faces at the front but possibly bewilderment elsewhere, he couldn’t tell. But he briefly caught the attention of Erox. Would she come with him he wondered or would she stay on the beach?

 

In any case, it was a brave move. He had caught everyone’s attention. Shoulders back and proud he walked a few yards. There were gasps from the beach. And so he would make his point.

 

But then he blew it . . . “and don’t anyone try and stop me” he said.

 

. . . and was that a tear in his eye?

Edited by Grib

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Do we just wait for days on end, checking & checking and then you throw a morsel to be devoured or is there a regular time slot that you intend to give?

 

It's like missing the movie that you've been waiting for only to find that they will repeat it next month.

 

That's not a complaint, just get on with the rest of the story!

 

Stav.

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I don't really read this section but stumbled across this after Grib mentioned it on another thread in Local News. I guessed it was going to be a written piece so thought I'd have a look.

 

I've got to say it's one of the best things I've read on any of the forums. I like it a lot, very clever use words with some of the user names. Keep it up and let's have some more please.

 

Or, in the style of Emoticon... B)

Edited by Mission

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If you’ll excuse me, this Grib episode has to be gotten out of the way.

 

Grib disappeared down the beach and into the darkness. When moments like these happened those gathered around the fire would first wait for reaction from the front. There were various voices chipped in:

 

“pffft!” said one.

and :

“ooooooOOOOoo!” sarcasmed another

followed by:

“He’ll be back, his type always are”

and another:

“Pffft” (There was quite a lot of pffftting going on)

and, perhaps most poignantly of all

“I’m gutted . . . . . . no, really, I am”

 

Despite the obvious indifference of those at the front, the tone of the reaction would not be set until Erox had spoken. They all knew, more or less, how she would start her brief but deciding comment:

 

There was a slight hesitation, the gathered group waited her reaction:

 

“I thought he was rather sweet . . . . . ” they had grown to know the first line, but she would qualify her initial statement. Erox was good at that.

 

But just now Erox couldn’t decide:

 

‘. . . . in a gribby sort of way’. No that wouldn’t do would it

‘. . . . in a beachie sort of way’. No that wouldn’t do her reputation any good either.

 

For once the quick witted beach princess was hesitant.

 

Fortunately Stapros sensed the moment. He would save Erox from possibly losing it off that street-credibility-o-meter that some strange person (PeeKay) had invented recently.

 

“Rrrroll up, rrrrroll up. Get Your Latest Keeeeebab Kreation here folks – Kokonut and Kiwi-fruit”. He roared.

 

And in that brief sentence, the memory of Grib was gone. They could be fickle places these beaches.

 

And so they all gathered round the barbecue, chatting and eating like they do at posh cocktail parties.

 

_______________________________________________________

 

So Grib was going to swim to another Island. Find another beach. He had heard of one 85 miles away where some had managed to swim to. But after 30 miles Grib was about done in. He needed to get fit again. Anyway, even if he did sink he could always walk on the sea bed like that Zombie fella did, couldn’t he?

 

But then, as if by magic, a huge raft came along. It had those bright coloured lights draped all over it and was lit up like the 4th of July. Yep, the good ship Dippity Doo was going to save him. As it came nearer he heard the music, the laughing, the partying.

 

“Hey Mr Grib, Dippity Doo is here for to save you, you see.”

 

A big black hand grabbed Grib out of the water and placed him aboard. It was Dippity Doo himself. The big fella laughed loudly. It was a laugh like the kind of laugh from some sort of TV film from a past era. You know the one, where someone has been drugged or something and as they’re falling into another consciousness there is a deep and earie echoing, menacing laugh.

 

Except, this place wasn’t at all menacing. “I see you need cheering up Mr Grib,.... here”. Dippity Doo handed him a pineapple juice. “Welcome aboard. You enjoy the party, man”.

 

Grib looked around. It was certainly a good party going on. Just as Dippity Doo had promised all those months back on MN island. The music, the food, the lights, the people, the very atmosphere. It was like something from the swinging 60s. All Psychedelic and, er, fuzzy like.

 

There were plenty of pretty girls too, all dressed in grass skirts and little else. Two of them approached Grib to welcome him to the everlasting party. Grib liked them grass skirts and parties and samba type music. Laughing and dancing, his new friends took him into the middle of it all. This place was indeed a paradise.

 

But despite all this, Grib had other things on his mind. He had somehow hurt someone’s feelings back on MF Island. There were more important things in life than partying-on-down at Dippity Doo’s.

Edited by Grib

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Guest Rox

Dippity Doo?

 

You went partying - on a raft - with Dippity Doo?

 

I might have been tempted to forgive you, but your arse is well and truly out of the window now.

 

Bloody Dippity Doo.

 

*continues to mutter*

 

*shakes head*

 

*walks away*

 

*broken*

Edited by Rox

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So he was back form Dippity Doo’s. After just a few days of partying, he was well knackered and in need of a rest.

 

He tried to tell everyone about his exploits but no one was interested. “But they have a really good time". he tried to explain ". . . . . and its really laid back . . . . and there’s music and dancing and…and..”

 

Every time he tried to tell a tale, it was met by a Mexican wave around the camp fire of *yawn*ing.

 

The beach gathering laughed whenever this happened and it seemed to Grib that the lot of them, for a few seconds, had on cheesey smiley faces like what they had on the MN island for emoticons that Red Av always used to use thereby preventing most other folk from using them in case others thought they were pandering to Red Av somehow by association.

 

So, forlornly, Grib took his rightful place near the back, near the wilderness. Sitting alone. He occasionally would look towards the fire. The faces were clearer there and he could see them, see her, laughing and chatting. He would have to ride this dark period through somehow. Someone might take pity, who knows?

 

“Hey, my friend”. A quiet voice spoke. Grib turned round to see who was talking. “For you, a fish kebab, with fish caught from the sea”. Stapros handed Grib the present. He understood peoples emotions did Stapros.

 

(Stapros always used phrases such as: “A beef kebab, with beef from the cow”, or “with salad, with salad from the garden” as if it could possibly have come from anywhere else!)

 

Grib thanked him and tucked in and began looking around. He’d leave them lot near the front of the fire for now. “Lets see who’s back here then,” he thought, “They’re probably just as interesting, who knows.”

 

A few rows away was that plastic box thing again. It seemed that every now and then the box would rotate backwards 90 degrees thereby moving himself a row away from the fire. “Its a bit warm for my plastic “ he’d say politely, not wanting to offend anyone with his quiet exit from the main proceedings. Besides, he may one day want to bounce back in.

 

Up in the trees was the Monkey. We had previously been used to the Monkey swinging from tree to tree and jumping down in amongst the people and up to his tricks. Once upon a time he used to do all that chattering and laughing noises that monkeys do on those wild life programs. But now he just sat there. Up a tree. Rather sad really. Have you ever seen one of those pictures of a monkey having vivisection whilst still wide awake and conscious? - that sad knowing look in their eyes. Well that is what Monkey looked like these days.

 

Stapros tried to help, “Hey Monkey, for you”. Stap tossed him a freshly heated Raspberry Pop Tart - Monkey’s favourite! “Made with raspberries and pastry straight from…straight from….wherever, but its for you, my friend all the same”. For even scientific tests could not fathom the origins of Raspberry Pop Tarts, let alone our resident shipwrecked beach chef.

 

But even this kind offering did not cheer Monkey up. He took one bite of the delightful treat and frisbeed it over the rows of people and straight into the fire.

 

Grib looked around further. There was one chap in particular he noticed. A small feverish looking guy, quite an odd chap really, who more than anything else in the world, wanted to sit near the front of the fire. Right at the front (but not too near Dclean or Erox). Already he had a certain notoriety on these Islands and indeed had a reputation for his eagerness and excessive misplaced enthusiasm. The chap noticed the barbecue and had an idea. He would set up his very own alcoholic drinks outlet. That would get him noticed and popular at the same time, surely. He could make cider . . . red wine . . . . and vodka...

Edited by Grib

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There are some ingenious people on MF island and such people were soon elevated in status. After all, what use is your average banker or advocate with all their paper wealth, when you have been shipwrecked?

 

Quite frankly – none.

 

It is practical skills that are needed. Jumping through verbal hoops and making flourishing monetary calculations to mention nothing of flambouyant interpretations of generally accepted moral standards don’t really cut it in this place. Do they?

 

Or - do they?

 

So with that qualification, the story will continue. I do hope I haven’t alienated the not inconsiderable number amongst us who are of the finance and legal 'professions'.....

 

[Grib – yep good, you lost the reference to I.T. people there. I’m glad you did as you could easily find yourself alienating half the bleedin’ forum mate, including yourself!! I’ll give the thing a final read through once you’ve done. I've set the HTML code not to display these blue notes, as soon as you send your post, OK? – ed]

 

You see, on such a beach, we are down to the basic human survival instincts.

 

And talking of ‘cutting it’, there were people who could indeed cut it. Led by a craftman of the trade they soon sawed down trees and made huts and things. They fairly ripped through them too, keeping busy and providing shelter and, perhaps most importantly, fuel for the fire - that focus of the beach dweller’s lives.

 

There are plenty of varied and complex personalities involved on this beach. Many have not yet been introduced here uet and a few are indeed deserving of their very own story. But to move away from characterisation a little, the environment of the beach, of the island, has to be understood.

 

This can best be described by making references to films. The obvious being of course The Beach with that Leonardo fella in it. I haven’t seen that film yet – only listened to the soundtrack. Phew! who needs drugs when you listen to that – way out man! Anyway, I believe that just now, the most appropriate film to set the scene is Apocalypse Now.

 

"Eh? How can a film about the Vietnam war be used to help tell the story of this particular Beach?"

 

Well, not the nasty violent bits of course, as there is no place for that sort of thing here you know. But, unlikely as it may seem, much of that Coppolla film can be related to the situation of this beach. Yes it can.

 

The obvious being the apparent serenity of the surroundings.

 

Apocalypse Now, or AN, as I will refer to it just now, is quite a true to life and realistic film, but quite paradoxically, in places, it is also very surrealistic. A pretty good reflection of MF island.

 

"Paradox and surrealism? A bit pseudo that to describe our beach innit? ". . . . . .

 

Well no.

 

To simply illustrate, where else would you have a purrr.etc.y cat and a WilDDog conversating so eloquently, for example?

 

or another instance, (as has already been described);

 

a jovial-rotting-flesh-infested-pishing-in-prams-swearing-undead-chap, interacting with a real world highly regarded and internationally respected satellite digital signal processing engineeress.

 

To say nothing of hyperactive teenagers and inept drunkards and pseudo intellectules putting in their tuppence worth too. Don’t ask me who they all are ‘cos at times I reckon it could be just about everyone.

 

[Grib lad – I would put a smiley in here, just in case you offend anyone! Hah, hah, you could be talking about yourself again mate (apart from the teenager bit), only joking! – ed]

 

So anyway, our island is covered with dense natural vegetation and is surrounded by a beautifully clean blue sea. There is much wildlife and, prima facie, the general atmosphere is one of contentment . . . .

 

_____________________________________________________

 

In a future episode:

 

Who is Colonel Kurtz and what is the Heart of Darkness?

Where is the Bridge, will there be sacrifices on the journey to find Colonel Kurtz?

Edited by Grib

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Alright Grib enough of this, have you managed to impress the woman beside the fire that you want to?

 

The story is very good but one can read into it an awful lot. You have managed to put into this everything apart from the fact that Grib really likes E-rox.

 

Keep going Fella

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. . .  the woman beside the fire . . . .

 

 

that part of the tale:

 

Posted Aug 1 2004, 10:19 PM

.

.

.

.

.

That seems such a long time ago, and the clock can't be turned back...

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On the face of it you can... if you smash the glass or summat first.

 

:-)

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So what has been happening this past year or so?

 

Many have joined the Beach, some have left and some have ‘left’.

 

Debate is a little stifled and controlled. Perhaps no bad thing. There has been no talk of ‘it’, or at least no talk that has remained on the record. Written in the sand so to speak.

 

There has been no Tsunami.

 

There see, a new word in all of our's voabulary.

________________________________

 

On the beach there have been one or two additional past times invented for amusement. A diversion from the fire.

 

There is a cave where some can go and tell their story, or their woes and worries in sort of private. Others can go along if they so desire, and listen. They can even chip in with the occasional comment. The speaker goes in to the cave and stands on a beach log or 'blog' as it is known. I think that is why it is called a blog I’m not sure, but who needs accuracy in such matters. I am sure I am correct, more or less.

 

More or Less.

 

Mmmmh, that leads quite nicely onto introducing one of the front row down at the beach fire. FC More or Less. FCML. Although some called him FC One More Coat, on account of his usefulness and diligence in painting up the beach huts for the rest of the beach dwellers.

 

This chap has had quite a lot to say and he was indeed listened to. For those that required amusement he could be baited and stirred into debate quite easily. This in turn provided entertainment (and some knowledge) for the rest, who would listen intently. FC had a sidekick. The pair were like a ventriloquist and his dummy . . . . except, it has to be said, this chap was no dummy.

 

These chaps, despite the reception they had received, were held in a similar esteem to the likes of StuPify, Franswaas and Grill89, on account of their openness and having no particular desire for anonymity.

 

As has been explained before, such folk were well looked after by Stapros, who incidentally had taken a bit of a turn these past few months. He had taken to speaking more about women, perhaps, some would say, a little lecherously. This came out in his work:

 

post-108-1128389846_thumb.jpg

 

__________________________________________

 

And also there was a cave that had become a sort of art gallery. You could go in here and paint stuff on the walls and other people could come in and have a look and sit and ponder at all the pictures and you could pretend to be an expert at pictures and show off to the opposite sex by standing back and sort of humming and then taking them to a quiet part of the beach and carry on talking about art and things and drinking coffee out of funny cups.

 

_________________________________

 

Someone had come up with an idea for some games. The beach had plenty of time to spare so it was possible to devize some rather innovative amusements. The beach now had a plentiful supply of crabs and instead of just killing them for Stapros to rustle up some more culinary creations they killed them in style. The game goes something like this:

 

On a big sandy patch they would put the crabs in about six rows in front of a person standing on the shoreline, who was to play the game. The beach folk had trained the crabs to all move sideways in one direction. (I told you there was lots of time available). And then they made the crabs take one step forward towards the gameplayer and then move side to side in the opposite direction. The crabs moved thus like an army, side to side, side to side, and forwards. Panting in unison and getting more excited as they approached further down the beach to freedom.

 

The game player would throw stones at the moving crabs and try to kill them. Hopefully all of them, before they themselves were over run and eaten by the crabs. Maybe.

 

There were other such amusements, but they had disappeared now and everything was generally all yap round the fire.

 

 

____________________________________________

 

So anyway, the bottomline is, the beach is still here.

 

Good.

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