As we no longer have the death penalty, can’t we have chain gangs of convicted criminals patrolling every surf spot and denying access to non-locals? Perhaps say, 28’s gang members? Government can’t do anything right, they at least owe us this. A safe, secure and nonviolent solution to help reduce crowds at packed surf spots, and you give prisoners something meaningful to do! It’s better than said prisoners dreaming of prison breaks, or drooling at the thought of communal showers or making shanks out of their own toenails. Jeez, do I have to think of everything around here?! Toot Hearthole, Butt-upon-Avon
So now the car guards at my local surf spot have developed their own putt-putt course on the grassy area behind the ablution block. I swear, everyday surf culture becomes more and more like a Salvador Dali painting. Combat Womb, Bean Bean Bean
Seriously – it’s been weeks – how long does it take for the body to dissolve sea urchin spines?! I’m mutating into a reverse-hedgehog! Just grab some golden rings, dye me blue and repeatedly yell “Grab!” Son of Ick, Segaville
Over recent years, the word localism has been perceived as increasingly negative. A dirty word. Yet at the same time, surf lineups nationwide – indeed – globally, have become congested, nightmarish lawless cesspits. Lineups need locals, and locals need lineups. But who qualifies as a local? What could be a possible solution? I say – let’s go old school. Like, REALLY old school. Any would-be local has to prove their mettle by pulling a sword from a stone. Finished and klaar. G Whizz, Camelot
To the lady in the blue VW Polo who parked next to me just before I went to surf. I apologise, but you see – I needed to wax my board and forgot my wax comb. So… er, that’s why the L in your car’s logo on the boot is lying next to your car. It made a handy, makeshift wax comb. So, if you didn’t pick the missing letter up and stick it back on, you’re now driving a blue VW Poo. Just thought you should know. Thieven’ Bustard, Alcatraz
