Beach Walker: Chapter 14
Hoodies
You can spot them half a kilometre off.
The ones who are going to march on past the signs, the striped tape and flimsy barriers, the single, exasperated volunteer. Some do it with a faux-pleasant smile. Others do it with eyes front, blind and deaf. A few do it with a scowl and an expletive.
‘Fucken greenies.’
On one occasion the n-word wafted in the man’s wake, crisp and distinct in the morning air. Well, you’re a charmer for sure, I thought. I hope you don’t have a wife and children.
It’s interesting how people behave on an isolated stretch of beach when there are no witnesses within earshot.
Most do the right thing. Many are lovely, interested, want to know how the tireless, feisty parents and their tiny chicks are getting on. ‘How old are the babies now?’ ‘Oh, just one left? What a shame!’ ‘Can my little boy look through your binos, please?’ A young surfie dude with dreads and a cute smile brought me a coffee from the van in the car park. A couple with a scope and huge camera knew far more about hoodies than I did.
Some are … persistent. An elderly gentleman with his miniature poodle apparently decided that he had made a friend for life and was going to stay and chat the entire duration of my shift. I may have been a little vague…
