dirtybeach.tv carving sand sculptures – bespoke installations – with music & comedy
secret garden party
The Secret Garden Party is a temporary community that is as free, irreverent, friendly and engaging as it is possible to be. It is conceived as a moment in the year where you can connect to your creative powers, explore your wildest fantasies and meet thousands of people who all want to meet you. It is a gathering that exists for only four days – away from cities and schedules, brands and boundaries – founded on participation and with the potential to change your life. It is a festival of the arts…where everyone is the artist.
The Garden will once again blossom right through until dawn! We have been given permission to keep our beloved sand stage open until 6am. For 2010 we will be using this gift to provide more music, comedy and playtime until daylight. As with all previous years, we will probably get a bit dirty.
SGP 22nd – 25thy July
open mic night
We decided to run an open mic night on the beach for a week and it was amazing fun I was impressed by the quality of the performers. Well done London 
dirty oil spill
The oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico is not that bad. Everyone knows that oily fish is good for your brain.
BeachBreakLive
All those coming down to the festival should look forward to the silky skills of the beach crew.
We can’t wait to see you all in South Wales to celebrate the start of summer and end of exams. The sun’s coming out too, hoorah!!
Beach Break Live with Dell an award winning boutique beach side bonanza of magic and memories, combining a killer line up, frivolous fun and an unrivalled vibe with 17,500 like minded folk converging to celebrate the start of summer on the dirty beach.
A massive success. (Clash Magazine)
The atmosphere was without doubt the most friendly we’ve experienced at any festival in the UK…. It really seemed like a community, everyone was really happy and relaxed. (Safe Concerts)
blog
I sit up and take in the intensity of my current undignified
circumstance. I’m a tramp. It’s somewhat surreal to know that I have
crossed an invisible line, passed the nadir of human existence. Being
the dregs at the bottom of the civilized social structure, not worthy of
eye contact and assumed to hold no value or significance to anybody.
I sit on my sleeping bag rolling a cigarette under a footbridge in
Waterloo, the heart of London. Watching the people passing I
contemplate the undignified circumstance of my modest living
arrangements.
It’s Monday. I’m being ignored by most of the foot traffic passing on
its way to work, to their important jobs and busy lives. Suits and
expensive cars constantly stream by, on a road probably taken again
and again, every single morning, with the exception of weekends and
bank holidays. Maybe one or two cast a glance in my general
direction and think in comparison how great their lives are. Briefcases
and heels marching past to their office tables, computer screens and
fishbowl lives, flooded by artificial light. Cocooned with a synthetic
sense of self worth, motivated by greed and a biased feeling of
relevance to the future of all human kind.
“You’re all idiots,” I shout to no one in particular. Their illusion of
freedom confines them all to a life sentence of work, which is never
ending. Is it possible that I am the only person here who realizes what
it is to be truly free?
I think of men who explore new territories, tracking around the heart
of the rainforest, living off the land with expert bush craft skills. Or
roughing it up mountains and in the artic circle, relying on no one,
building shelters in the ice and snow. Compared to them I’m living the
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life of luxury, lying on my cardboard bedding, sleeping under a bridge
in the centre of a vibrant and exciting city. I only need a thin sleeping
bag to keep me warm in the pleasant English summertime and my
bag makes for a comfy pillow. I believe I’m a student in the university
of life, learning urban street craft in a sprawling concrete jungle.
Money is never a problem for me although I rarely had much. I’d see
many a homeless person for whom sitting on their arse and begging
for coins was the major activity of their day; but I had a little more
ingenuity than that.
I think I’ll raid the fountains in Trafalgar Square later, I’ve seen lots of
money in them. I poke at Stuart, my half sleeping tramp friend next to
me. He doesn’t even stir. He just carries on snoring, while dribbling
slowly down his face.
The work force marching by may once have appeared smart to my
younger self. Now everyone seems trapped. Warped by conformity
and shrink wrapped in uniform on a conveyer belt leading nowhere.
Autonomous gullible robots seemingly void of personality and
passion. I can tell by the dead expressions that float past, no one is
happy. The odd one or two are lost in a world of ipod music and mp3
players. Headphones in the ears express the silent beat of their
music to me through their walk. A tapping hand or bobbing head
shows some vague signs of life, but it’s an illusion that will end with
the track. Once at work they will have to stop the music and sacrifice
their day to a monotonous reality. What for? So they can buy lots of
shit that they don’t need and live in a place they don’t like. So for two
weeks of the year they can run away from it all and experience true
freedom, before returning to face another fifty weeks of pain.
I take a final drag on my cigarette, flick it into the path of the drones
and smile smugly to myself. It was a new day to try new things and I
had a new plan.
Thousands of tourists throw coins into the Trafalgar Square fountains
every year. I know this because I was one of those tourists a few
years back, throwing coins into the water while wishing for
extravagant luxuries and happiness. I probably wished for my own
boat. I’ve always wished for a boat. I used to dream of being a sea
captain while exploring the world. Now I’d probably wish for two boats
so my tramp chum could come sailing with me. That way I wouldn’t
have to smell his rotting bum burps ever again.
I was getting hungry but had no cash left at all. My friend and I both
had a few different ways of making money from people without
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begging and the latest discovery was pavement drawings. Stuart had
found some coloured chalk in a pub a few weeks ago. I did a doodle
on the floor with it. I have to say it looked quite good, sprawled across
the pavement outside the National Gallery. It was my interpretation of
a London street scene around Big Ben and we had made about £25
from the tourists putting money into our hat. But that took the whole
afternoon and I had plans on eating breakfast sooner rather than
later. Food was now dominating my thoughts while I gathered
together all my worldly positions into one small bag. Food, and now
the fact that I was starting to smell really quite bad. I can’t even
remember the last time I had a wash.
“Alright, I think I’d like to take a bath before breakfast.” I say to Stuart
after giving him a few soft punches to the ribs. He was awake now.
We headed to the fountains in Trafalgar Square. It was full of people
milling about aimlessly. The wardens patrolling in their high vis-vest
make sure no one is having any fun. You must not feed the pigeons.
My God, that would be terrible, wouldn’t it. It seems stupid but there
are also signs up now saying stay out of the fountains but they wont
stop us. We are on a mission.
After a quick look around when the high vis men were nowhere near,
we de-robed down to our shorts and jumped into the water. It felt very
cooling and refreshing. Half swimming, half crawling backwards we
float slowly to the middle where the big fountain is pumping hard. We
simultaneously scrubbed our armpits with one hand and shoveled
handfuls of coins into our pockets with the other. I wondered if my old
coin was still in the fountain from all those years ago. I had only
spoke to Stuart about having a wash in the water on the way up, but
Stu was doing exactly the same thing as me, loading coins into his
short pockets as discreetly as he could, which actually wasn’t very
discreetly at all. We were both laughing quite hard.
A small group of tourists were all staring at us and pointing. The
serious look on their faces suggested they were not happy with our
behavior.
“You know Stu these fountains are at the very geographical center of
London,” I announce in a loud voice. He stops gathering the coins
and puts on a mock serious face. He had also clocked the group of
people looking our way and was equally aware we could get
ourselves into trouble.
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“Is that so Andréa? That’s very interesting. So we are right in the
heart of London”
“No, hang on, that’s not right. Not the exact geographical center,” I
respond. “But I think it’s the key reference point, which all distances
to London are measured. To that statue of Charles I,” I point to a
statue of a guy on horseback across the road. “That marks the centre
of the cartographer’s capital.”
As the group turns away to look where I was pointing, I tried to make
my escape around the fountain in a crab scuttle on my hands sort of
fashion. Our situation of possible danger had instantly escalated into
the game.
We played our games all the time but it’s extremely hard to explain
the rules. They are complicated and the games were rarely the same
twice. In short, to win you had to go further, faster, be the most
creative or simply out smart the other. If we could make the other
person laugh or take it to a new level in some way, we would win.
You also won by default if you pushed your luck further than the other
would dare. The fun factor of all games is directly proportional to the
danger involved.
Our situation was this, and Stu reads the game perfectly. Some
people had seen us helping our selves to the fountain wish money.
There is a chance they will tell the local wardens and we’d get in
trouble. Not that trouble was sometimes a fun distraction; it was never
a good thing on an empty stomach. We knew we have to escape, and
this was the game. On cue as the whole group turn around to see
where I was pointing. I go for the comical wobble walk backwards on
all fours aiming to hide behind the other side of the fountain but Stuart
instantly wins. The group had only turned around for a split second
and Stu does this quick exaggerated look around. He does a double
take from me, to the group and back to me again. Then with a splash,
he submerges himself totally under the water. I see the group turn
back as I admit defeat. We can all see him swimming away under the
shallow water but he is better hidden than me. I fight the laughter,
take a big breath and splashed down under the surface after him.
The water is less than half a meter deep and I try to follow his lead
but I only get a quarter of the way around the pool before I have to
come up for air, choking with laughter. I see the bubbles coming from
Stuart as he comes up for a lung full of sweet oxygen but not until he
has made it around the back of the fountain. He is now totally out of
sight from the tourists. I glance back to see the people smiling which
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is a good sign. I even wave as one takes my picture. I can tell they
will not be getting us into trouble or grassing us up, by their now
friendly body language. Two of the group gives me a thumbs up and
they seem pleased with their photograph. The escapes worked like a
charm. We were safe, the enemy was won over by a dolphin dive and
the battlefield was soaking away the stench, which had been growing
in my armpits for days. These refreshing waters were even going to
buy us breakfast.
I joined Stu under the cascading waterfall, now facing the National
Gallery. We smiled at all the new eyeballs staring our way. We were
right in the centre and far enough away from the edge to get on with
the harvesting undetected. Though we were both keeping a look out
for police or any one else working in the square that would
disapprove of our presents.
“Well done Stu, that was well played back there. I would never have
thought to tunnel my way out like that.”
“Well you know me Bambi,” says Stuart proudly. “I am what you’d
refer to as a winner. Hey, we should do this more often. I love free
London.”
We had recently been talking about FREE LONDON quite a lot. I was
starting to get a knack for getting things for free in the city. Free food,
free travel and free beer were available to anyone with the right
motivation.
“Keep your eyes open for the filth. No one is stealing my free money
today”
‘Filth’ was our affectionate term for the police. It was either that or
pigs. I couldn’t help but feel a certain animosity towards the police
after the way they have treated us.
After about a minute or two giggling and chatting shit, my pockets
were full. I was trying to look nonchalant, which is quite difficult to do
stealing money with one hand and scrubbing one’s balls with the
other but things were looking good. I slid on my arse back to the side
when one of the new onlookers asked me what I was doing. I
shrugged as I got out and looked at Stu for support. “We was just
having a cool off and a bit of a wash.” We were both giggling again.
“What’s that in your pockets then?” Said the girl next to him.
Our pockets were massively bulging and clearly full of coin weight. I
had to cup them with my hands just to stop my shorts falling down.
“Erm, it’s nothing. My pockets are empty,” I protest. ”Apart from keys.
Erm, I have lots of keys.”
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“Well I don’t have any keys, this is all coins I found in the water,” Was
Stuarts answer as we picked up our stuff and tried to escape as fast
as we could.
We wobble jog up the road to our freedom in a frenzy of high fives,
heel clicks and happy babble. Watching our rear flank all the way for
any sign off people following, we slip around the corner. Once we are
happy nobody is following us, we slow down to a gentle walk. Both
totally chuffed to bits with yet another mission accomplished we enter
the nearest shop.
Selecting a healthy and yet nutritious breakfast of sandwiches, crisps
and strong lager the shopkeeper cuts in. “I’m not excepting that,” the
till man says as we start counting the wet coins on the counter.
“Why not, it’s money isn’t it?” Argues Stuart but I see the till man’s
point right away.
“Yes it’s money but I am not excepting that. It’s dripping wet and it’s
filthy. Take it away. I’m sorry but I can not serve you.”
The coins are all either half rusted or half coated in brown slime. They
have probably been sitting in the water for a good while and the crap
coming off on my hands is quite disgusting.”
“Sorry you are right,” I explain as I pocket my dirty cash. “We will
come back later when we have it cleaned up. Come on Stu.”
I noticed for the first time there is a great many 1p’s, more than I
would have hoped for.
“The shop man probably didn’t like the fact it was all shitty one
pennies either.” Stuart says, which was exactly what I was thinking.
We walk across the road and I want to reassure him, as he suddenly
sounded very glum.
“I don’t blame him. You probably would have done the same thing if
you were in his position. But we cannot grumble at free money. Even
if it is just dirty pennies. We can clean it up. Think of it this way. Each
coin may have been someone’s wish when it was hurled into the
pool, a symbol of their hopes and dreams. And now they are all in
your pockets. So what is actually in your shorts now represents about
five hundred other peoples wet dreams.”
His face lights up, “Possibly thousands.”
“Well I wouldn’t go that far”
“Possibly millions and I’m not talking about the coins now Bambi. I am
like a wet dream machine.” Thrusting his groin and pulling an orgasm
face emphasized his last three words. The coins seemed to jingle
with delight. Stuart follows me into the Garrick Arms, a pub next to a
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west end theater of the same name. They also refuse to serve us but
not because of the dirty money this time.
“Sorry guys, we’re not actually open yet,” says the person with a
sweeping brush behind the bar. “I’m just in here to do the cleaning.
Come back in a few hours.” We apologize for the drip trail of water
leaking from our shorts and wander up to Covent Garden to sit in the
sun and count our money.
Using a couple of beer towels swiped off the bar in the Garrick pub
we polish the coins. The wet trail we made on the floor proved a
perfect distraction with the cleaner, long enough for us to swipe two
beer towels off the bar unnoticed.
I enjoy building little towers of different denominations as I dab away
the slime and water. Every so often a tower topples over and the top
few coins try to escape but they are soon rounded up. We count
roughly £16.20. I counted it twice and got a slightly different answer
but it was near enough. We also found quite a lot of odd looking
foreign coins in our collection.
We deposit all the foreign crap into a buskers guitar case and head to
Tesco metro for a more successful shopping trip. The self-service tills
make no complaint about our money, as we feed it continuously with
nearly everything we have. This takes a while but is worth the effort. It
even turns into a game of who can put the money in fastest. I carry
our booze and food down to the river as Stuart rolls some cigarettes.
Once on the beach we get stuck straight into our picnic brunch. It’s so
nice watching the world go by, drinking our drinks and sitting on the
Thames sand. Wrapping salad in the bread we brought and shoveling
crisps into our faces. Eventually we both fall asleep in the afternoon
sun on the beach by the oxo tower. Content and happy.
A few hours later, after our snooze we start setting up a game of
chess. The tide had gone out a fair way now, exposing the rocks and
rubbish on the riverbed. The view across the water to St Paul’s
Cathedral is breath taking. The silhouettes of buildings on the bright
blue skyline fill me with an exciting contentment. It feels great simply
to be alive. I wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else right now.
It takes ages to find all of our chess pieces but the prospect of a good
game in this setting gives me a spring in my step. Ironically I nearly
fall over when I step on a spring while looking for my second castle.
Our chessboard isn’t real. We mark out an eight by eight grid on the
sand. Drinks cans and other random bits of collected junk become
the armies. My king is a dented AA battery and my queen a wine
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bottle. I control the dark side of black and green colours, while Stuart
opts for the side of red or rusty odds and sods.
It took about an hour to set up and is almost over in less than half that
time. I move the wine diagonally to take his coke can castle. It’s
becoming an easy fight for the dark side.
“Check,” I shout, pointing at the boards half consumed army of dirty
beach offerings.
“Shoot, I didn’t see that.”
This was hardly surprising considering how blind drunk he was
already. Pouring can after can of seriously strong cider down his
gullet and more or less the same amount down his shirt since we
started our epic battle; he moves his empty cider can two spaces
forward to block me. It’s an illicit move because the cider is his
bishop. He is getting confused with the half brick, which represents
his castle but I don’t say anything as it leaves an opening.
“Check and mate.” I smile smugly to myself and take a long drink
from the queen.
“Damn. Oh well, you got lucky then,” he says. “It wont happen again.
Best of three?” I slam my queen down hard on his tomato king, which
satisfyingly explodes everywhere. “Or not… what now?”
“I think we should drink the rest of the booze so I don’t have to carry it
around anymore Bambi.” Stu said this as he takes another can out of
his bag without even waiting for a reply.
Being on the beach is my new favorite place in London. Drinking on
the street is not allowed which is why we left the music in Covent
Garden to come here. You could get away with anything on the
beach because it is common land or something, and different laws
apply. I start digging about at the sand between my legs. “What would
you like to see now, if you could see anything?” I ask Stu.
He shook his head. “I don’t know, more drink and a naked lady.”
“OK, naked lady it is…” I started carving and molding the sand in front
of me. After about ten minutes it was starting to take shape. You
could make out a human shaped figure lying on its back with big
breasts and long flowing hair. The pile of sand in her hand I’m now
working on was supposed to be a can of cider she is holding, but it
was stubbornly staying suspiciously lump shaped. I give up trying to
carve the hand holding a sand drink and use an empty can instead.
As I stand back to admire my handy work I think to myself it’s the best
sculpture I have ever made. I shout over to Stuart who was skimming
stones. “What do you think?” I am very pleased with myself.
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“Very good, but don’t give up your day job.” Came the reply from
above my head. Looking up I see a bloke at the railings in the corner.
He points his phone straight at me on the sand below and takes our
picture. “She needs bigger tits.” Then the bloke smiled, admiring his
phone screen and threw a pound coin towards me. It landed in the
sand next to my jacket. A second later, he was gone.
“Blimey. He just gave me a quid. THANK YOU.” He was out of sight
but I bet he heard the thanks because I shouted it loud enough to
make everybody walking past look down at us. While we are dancing
our, ‘we just got a free pound celebration dance’ someone else threw
down fifty pence and it lands in the middle of my coat.
“WOW, its raining money,” beamed Stu. “Thanks. We almost have
enough for another two cans of beeeeer”, he shouts to the world. Stu
ends his little dance with a back flip while I wave and smile at the
people who threw the second coin, because now they were also
taking our picture. A thread of thoughts was speeding through my
head and the smile started taking over my face as a few more
pennies followed as soon as I put my cap out on my jacket.
The Thames beach was our playground. We were always competing
at everything and seeing who could walk the furthest on our hands on
the sand. This was one of our many beach games. It was much
harder after drinking but it was a great way to stay fit and strong. A
new trick we were practicing was the straight up handstand. From a
crouching position on the floor, we would slowly transfer our weight
onto our hands. Using sheer strength and balance we could lift our
feet off the floor and go straight up into a full handstand. We had
done this many times before, but today was the first time people were
dropping coins for us while we played. All thanks to a carefully placed
jacket with upturned cap in the centre and a hand written ‘THANK
YOU’ scrawled into the sand.
As the sun disappeared behind the treetops and the nighttime took
over the city we were still down on the beach. The steady stream of
dropping coins and slowed now there were not so many people
passing. We had tried to make a dog lying next to the lady a few
times during the evening but I had to start it again twice. There was a
couple of accidents which involved Stuart punching it to pieces when
the dog refused to ROLL OVER or obey a simple FETCH command.
Luckily it was a little more obedient when I asked it to STAY and LIE
DOWN on the third try.
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