the kook and his buddies
thanks for the shot, mike.
Posts tagged ‘Bondi’
Nov 4
1 Comment
surfing in the 60’s .. what a bloody shambles.
Nothing is true, all those stories about surfing in the the sixties are fiction.
this was bondi ~ barry mcguigan – magoo – the string magician
He's not a legend - he was always magoo. This was Bondi.
erin and the idealogy of hate
We would croon soft and intimate abuse as he raged back at us for our illegitimate insults; us, the founding Bondi Fascista.
being a schoolboy surfer in 1959
We had no time for their Prefects and sport-games, their cadet corps and exams, no time for their rules and commandments, their uniforms, their classrooms and lessons. Their floggings.
les girls, the boys from the cross come to bondi, things do not go well.
1961, bondi is invaded by the transvestite dancers from the kings cross nightclub, 'the all male review' - everybody hurts
a bright future in retailing
Then the hangover stood up and waved at me, waved a big red flag at me. Lots of drums in the background.
mick dooley cutting back
I don't see anybody doing this manoeuve, even up here at Byron where the waves are so easy you can surf them with your eyes closed
ben buckler, ben the bumpy – the hero wave
Ben Buckler, the world's bumpiest wave. A condensed appraisal.
another history of bondi
One mile away to the south Bondi would greet the dawn like an overworked whore on a Sunday morning with dozens of French Letters littering her high water mark.
Terry T-Shirt
And when the long awaited set finally did arrive the only person in the right position to take it was Terry T-shirt, every bloody time. He had this uncanny knack of being able to time the arrival of the next set of waves, not only that but until his private alarm bell rang he’d be inside pinching all those waves as well, and all alone.
a summer story
Right now Doug decides to pull back the dressing on his ulcer for a looksee, and the swollen wound swallows half his hand before some babe wearing a black lace hanky strolls past, all silky wobble and perve. We observe the moment with a tranquil and hormonal grief as Ken retires into the dank shadows for another piss. Five an hour is the usual but who’s counting.
what surfers drive – the 1964 mini-minor
The ad also displaces the myth that surfers in the sixties all had long bleached hair, as the dudes in the pic are no doubt typical of the era and all have the look of Junior Executives ready for some hang-ten time.
petebowes.com 