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The SK8R I never was

The Emo kid in our garage ‘Pop Shoving It’ or some such youth speak.

I just used to whizz down the hill past the piggery all day long when I were a lad. Now look at um’. The kids of today ay!
In fact I never, EVER wish I was 13 again but today I could have possibly, maybe, everso slightly be tempted.

Happy sk8ing.

Stu

My Perfect Wave

 

THAT wave down at ‘you know where’.

First & foremost let me say I’ve never ridden my favorite wave. Also let me say it’s not ‘Choo Pooh’, ‘Pee Arse He’ or ‘Horseing around a gore’ it’s nothing so glamorous. It’s just a tiny, perfect slice of Cornish surfectionary. In fact I also have to admit I’ve only ever seen it break twice in all my years of surfing. Truth to tell, as that seems the order of the day, I humbly admit that I’d never even dare to call myself a surfer. I just love to surf & surf lots I try to do & fail at that quite a bit too. But a surfer? Sadly ‘No’. However I can lay sure & certain claim to some of the knowledge of the sensation of what it is to be a surfer. Quite simply in my humble experience there’s nothing & I mean NOTHING on the face of this little blue marble that effects me in the same way as THAT basic yet fundamental experience of riding along the face of a wave. It is quite simply unmatchable. It’s also why I suspect that the Tiki gods KNOW if I’ve got my board with me when I pay that place a visit & adjust the swell accordingly. Most would call it bad timing or just plain stupidity on my part, but for me it’s like a little game I have to play each time I head West, away from my home breaks. I also have a sneaking suspicion that those cheeky Tiki gods know I probably haven’t earned a wave there yet. They’ve just taunted me with with glimpses of my own little nirvana. I live in hope.