A builder stuck on the beaches of Portugal.


Penfold loved his work – mixing cement with spades, cutting wooden things with saws, carrying large heavy things from one pile and then stacking them up in a different one with tired and bleeding hands. It was this joy that would awake him every morning with a spring in his step and a twinkle in his slightly miopic eye. But life can be a fickle creature that maliciously tosses metaphorical sticks in your spokes. For now he was caught in an endless web of confusion and despair.
Sleep, eat, surf, sleep, eat and more surf. There seemed no end to the nightmare. Just this morning he found himself tearing down the line on his Fatum fish, spray flying off the lip, the sun glinting across his gracefully balding cranium. Then beyond that drudgery all that was left was loitering around the beach eating large fresh salady baps and drinking freshly squeezed orange juice. With ice.
I can’t tell you how Penfold deals with this tragedy only that he is a greater man than I…

Penfold surfed today but only because they made him do it…


  1. Yeah, it doesn’t get much worse than that – many condolences amigo. I’ll start looking at those job ads for multi-tasking , smiley, smiley peoploids who love cubicles and air conditioning and pass them on. Your pain may end soon. I share it too – I mean, those BBQ coals can burn and I think, I’m not sure, but I ache a bit tonight – that duck diving for shiny stones on the beach today was really quite stressful.

  2. Came over from Lizza’s blog. Nice surfing place you have here. I’m not a surfer but could surf vicariously through your stories. The water sounds fine.

    Keep up the good blogging. Enjoyed reading.

  3. Ta for the moral support PQ in my time of need…
    BB – I knew you’d understand the pain I’m going through!
    Hi Mimi – thanks for dropping by, glad you like what you read – (tomorrow I shall surf for peace)…
    Dad – advice from a man that can’t spell bap… I don’t think so!

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