“Surf's up!” Davey Doling yelled, after he had found his glasses.

“Surf?” Georg Ukelele said, laughing while donning his trademark gangster cap over buzz-cut white hair. “Yeah sure, there's surf, huge pounding two centimetre waves, Davey…if, and it's a big if, you can actually find your your way to the water, what with all the piers and closed amusement parks and boarded up holiday villas. And there's one small problem: you'll have to brave water that's full of pollution and barely five degrees Celsius.”

“And what would we do in surf anyway?” Lisbett Flagelli asked while pouring herself a cup of bitumen-thick coffee. She hated thin coffee with milk or sugar, knowing full well that this was a mark of character. She spoke on: “None of us lives near the beach, owns a surfboard, or even knows what boardshorts are!”

“Or what an aquabog is” Stefan Less observed, accepting a coffee from Lisbett while undoing his ponytail.

“Aquabog?” Gianna Weiss asked, being careful to avoid doing anything of note.

“Yeah,” Stefan said, “you know, when you're in a wetsuit, on your board and out past the point and then you need to crap…voila, aquabog!”

“Uh Stefan!” Gianna said, “too much infurrmayshun! Aquabogs! My Lord!”

“But how do you wipe your bum, Stefan?” Tini Seedlin asked.

“Let not thy right hand know what thy left hand is doing,” Stefan said, “even if you have sea water to use…”

“Uhuhuhuhu,” Willy Cotton responded, “and that's definitely not in the eyes of the reader.”