surfing...and

my surf last night was one of the good ones.

I got home from work a little early, the lucky ones who had the day off had had their fill, the beach had quietened, and the wind had gotten good - a gentle NE, grooming the small waves, a few peaks up and down the beach. the tide was a little full, so the backwash was creating some speedbumps to nagivate, but as the afternoon became early evening, the tide pulled out, and things got good.

I was left of boat ramp, my favorite little spot at main when its small, getting those loooooong runs down to the far stairs.

Shared a few with a quiet, understated super logger, Robbie - robbie has a quiet elegance when he rides, picks his waves well, and is quick and nimble on his feet, and a super dude to boot - fun trading waves and talking boards with someone who likes their equipment refined but simple.

We both had a little handplane session after too, which was nice...i love the feeling that a good bodysurf gives you, so different to surfing, but easily its equal.

So, im fueled up, satisfied, but not completely, because can you ever be?

Now, i have tomorrow off - and the forecast is for 2ft and NW, so im eager and excited and hungry for some more...and this is dangerous - expectations are the mother of all fuckups.

Since no post is complete without a pic, here's me and the missus, waves or no waves, she's the constant joy...

check the rad cardigan - pommie's stylin!

warm beer

only an expat knows the feeling....

its hard being away from home, both of my homes - but in the spirit of truly attempting to remain present in the moment, experiencing life as it happens, ive allowed a whole host of wanted and unwanted emotions to bubble away since being here - driving along old streets, memories, reminders of my past - acutely reminds me of the hardest thing in being away from home, cues.

As you walk about the town/village/city/country from where you hail, tiny, minute cues trigger conscious and unconscious memories, some of which you dwell upon, others you dismiss - but this is a constant, always happening on some level. Moving away from your country, those cues vanish, its hard to define, like capturing smoke, but this is the thing that's the hardest - your past relies solely in your conscious recall.

Now not, right now, sitting in the conservatory of mums house, listening to wood pigeons, and starlings tweet and chirp, memories are stirred of childhood, tree-houses, wood fires, hay baling, long hot drives to crammed coastal towns annually. and every day so far, the same - so i'm sucking it all in, storing it away, remembering so i can later remember.

and...beer gardens...i've traveled wide and far through my life, but nothing beats a English beer garden in unseasonably warm spring afternoon sunshine...