Official Bayly’s Beach Gullying Club
Declaration of Self Aggrandisement and Presidential Fatwa.

This is to certify that I, Ian Purdie do hereby formally decree myself to be
and to have always been

Having stitched up a dodgy back room deal with the Club’s Patron, Vern Woods back in 1978 we have maintained a healthy stranglehold on the upper echelons of the Club’s mighty power base. Thus, in accordance with the highest principles of corruption and selfishness, I hereby abuse that power even further by declaring myself...

with a view to handing the title down to my son and heir

when I am personally not interested in carrying on with whatever duties I haven’t yet shirked.

By Decree;

El Presidente

The Bayly’s Beach Gullying Club was founded in 1978 by Ian Purdie (hereafter referred to as El Presidente) and Vern Woods (hereafter referred to as The Patron). It was a reaction to a year of particularly bad surf and some unfortunately symmetrical seaweed displays washed up on the sand. Immediately we began to hold Meats - not each others. Eventually we refined these down to several regulars, including The Fee’s Paying Meat in February, The World Gullying Championships at Easter, a Deep Winter Meat and finally the Spring Meat. Any other meats were spontaneous and the Club takes absolutely no responsibility for any of it. Anybody curious about Gullying should access a copy of ‘The Fantasy Cliffs’.

A free download of ‘The Return of El Presidente and Son’ is available right here.

Otherwise, get a root down!

“There’s no such thing as The Bayly’s Beach Gullying Club. It’s a farce. Their meetings are stupid and all they do is run down sand hills. It’s not a proper sport and they’re probably ruining the natural ecology of the beach.” A Korean tourist who got lost on Bayly’s Beach in 1996.

Gullying is sacred. There’s no higher union of the spiritual and the physical than in the gentle art of throwing one’s self off the top of a cliff. Gullying is the ultimate transcendentalism. It doesn’t even get close to making sense. It’s a symbol of the deepest urges of the human soul to cartwheel disrespectfully into some other reality. It grants release via gravity. In Newtonian terms it’s an attempt to reap magic from the obscene sterility of accurate calculation coupled with obsessive descent. In Einsteinian terms it is neither wave nor particle. It not only is and isn’t, but it also might be. It’s simply beyond the current paradigm. Gullying is a symptom of an overdue manifestation in a parallel universe. It’s a form of cosmic spill, a link to another reality just beyond the dunes. A universe where rats really are pigs! Where we really can fly.
Gullying is a pure form of sometimes painful joy.