Can you learn to surf at 50?

Of course not – that would be ridiculous.

Any sentient being approaching 50 years of age must feel the looming presence of their own mortality. The searing ache in every feeble, wasting muscle in your body, the befuddled confusion at pedestrian crossings where clarity of thought once reigned. The smell of decay when you change your socks (if you can still reach your own feet)… Continue reading “Can you learn to surf at 50?”

Lost in the mist…

figures lost in the mist

I’ve been a bit lost recently.

Not the ‘manfully driving around tiny country lanes refusing to ask for directions’ or ‘wandering around the local Lidl licking fridge windows’ kind of lost but the listless, lacklustre, (alliteration ridden) lost of the middle-aged, middle-class man. A man in the middle of his life, struggling between the sweet dreams of ambition and the painfully setting concrete of reality.

Is this ‘The Crossroads’ that they sing about? Am I standing on a dusty intersection in Buttfuck Idaho playing a beat up guitar hoping that a demonic venture capitalist will snap my soul up after they spot it on Instagram? Is this the beginning of the end and therefore the end of the beginning? Am I at a junction with choices or have I arrived? Destination: Middle Of The Road.
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And on the seventh day…

The rain stopped. Of course we all knew it would eventually – it doesn’t ever rain forever – that would be tantamount to Biblical and who needs that? I was starting to crinkle a bit around the edges and there was a definite whiff of mildew in my darker corners. But cease it did and inevitably the sun came out from behind those breaking clouds…

So the enormous timber frame construction kit that I’ve been whittling piece by piece in a miniscule temporary workshop has finally seen some daylight. Trying to man-handle six metre glulams inside a half built kitchen that only measures five by three has been somewhat trying but needs must when Beelzebub barfs into your beverage boiling pot…

Built using Pythagoras, trigonometry and an exceptionally short pencil this spruce skeleton has tested my maths, memory and man muscles but at last it is fully upstanding. Proudly perpendicular to the horizontal. Plumb to the prone. Erect.

Only thirty eight rafters to cut and I’ll be done…

I didn’t surf today. Too busy getting the splinters out of my big, burly man-hands…

Into the snakepit

I was sitting peacefully on my own in the sea a couple of days ago (on a surfboard obviously – I didn’t go for a wander along the beach and think ‘Oh – that looks like a nice damp spot for a moment of quiet non-upright semi-immersed introspection’) when somebody paddled out and sat next to me.

I prepared myself for the usual half nod and uncomforable silence that stands for “I am a surf-man and I will take my rightful place in this hierarchy of two!”. I was met however with a broad smile and a cheery greeting. We exchanged names, lifestyle choices and then discussed our personal decision to surf a smaller quieter peak than join the plethera of surf practioners at other ‘better’ waves.
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There is no try…

sagres_beach_footsteps_in_sand-001

The more observant of you will notice that posts on this blog have been less than prolific as of late. The medical term for this is apparently ‘blog impotence‘.

According to Wikipedia:

The inability to get a ‘blog-on’ can be both humiliating and frustrating and can lead to awkward social media encounters, such as ‘liking’ your school friends meal choices and even Snapchatting with your nieces…

I have been unable to get on top of a good hearty ‘weblog’ in well over a year and to be honest my last sporadic blogular ejaculations have been somewhat disappointing. Leaving me feeling slightly soiled and unappreciated…

So here I am with the wise words of Yoda in my mind – wrapping my dainty man-hands round the reins of a shamefully dusty keyboard to see if I can get back on that Papersurfer horse and ride off into the literary sunset with the cool, spring air whipping through my gracefully thinning hair. To see if I can justify the paultry $9.99 I pay in hosting fees every year and to see if I can untangle my metaphors before I get humped to death by the animal rights police…

This post was going to be about surfing. Which after far too long I have also returned to, with decreasingly painful results. Let’s hope the same can be said about my writing skills…

I didn’t surf today. But I did tune my snowboard ready for ‘Les Pyrenees’…

Kitsch in sync

Play

kitschinsync

My apologies – it’s been a while since I’ve whipped out my digital decks and spun a few tunes out into the spacernet. This is a small eclectic mix of the groovy house variety. A bit of mooch, bump, jiggle and the odd bit of ‘hmmmm that’s nice Max….’ would not be inappropriate. Except if the in-laws are staying – then you need to keep it to yourself…

The tracks are as follows (MP3 on VDJ7):

  • Kackvogel (original mix) – Solomun
  • Movin’ Chris James refix
  • Leadbelly (original)
  • Sally – Adam Port
  • Tread deep – DJ Haze
  • Need in me – Flashmob
  • Gloryhunter
  • The more I want – Eivissa
  • A better World – Fred Everything & Giom

(A big thank you to all 14,855 people that have downloaded my podcasts in the last few years! It seems that the Americans, Brits, German and Chinese are the biggest house fans out there, closely followed by the Japanese, French, Australian and a few Russians. The Dutch and ‘Others’ need to get more involved….)