Just to clue you in on "Rickapoodie and a fangdoogly".
Ward Austin ruled the beaches. Inescapable. If he wasn't delivered by your very own Sony tranny, he was on the next towel over, or even broadcast through the surfclub's loudspeakers. A legend remembered by at least one petrolhead:
IIRC he would suffix each half-hourly time-call with "Roll over" so you'd restart cooking the other side.
I'd like better photography from Google so I can scan the sand for the nastier sorts of litter such as busted beer bottles and druggies' harpoons.