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’…

The Mentalist…

baleal midday gazing

I can count the days I’ve spent surfing this year using the contents of my pants. This is not a good statistic.

Life has been bowling me along for months in a dusty cloud of cement and sawdust and surfing has been slipping deeper into my mind. So deep that somedays it becomes a strange daydream about a life I thought about once.

Luckily I have a friend who is a mentalist. Not a total nutter who is prone to bouts of certifiable insanity that teeters on the brink of social disorder (although on reflection he has the capability of all of this) but a controller of minds using nothing but his intellect and wisdom…

Phone rings…

DB: Hey Sharky (his pet name for me)

Me: Hey Dolphin Boy (likewise)

DB: Did you know that I’m clairvoyant and that I know what you’re doing tomorrow morning…

…enigmatic pause…

Me: Tiling the bathroom?

DB: Nope.

Me: Sanding the study ceiling?

DB: Nah.

Me: I give up.

DB: Going surfing with me at Cabadelo…

The spooky thing was… he was completely right. I did. And it was gooood….

I surfed today. Thank you kindly DB – I muchly needed that.

Surf report Portugal…

baleal midday glare

…the first thing to report is the continued need for factor 50 on my (ever so slightly) follicle-free cranium, the water still only requires 3 millimetres of neoprene and most of the German plastic longboarders have vacated the line up.

Friday – the surf however has not been so pleasant – a howling north wind has left a lumpy, uneven swell pummelling the coast. Shelter has been available in Baleal bay but the small wave count has been somewhat of a bunfight – a high numpty to surfer ratio evened out the odds of catching some good waves but made for an interesting ride avoiding the swarm of flailing bodies and discarded boards…

Saturday – the gale is dying leaving a choppy windblown swell. We take refuge from the crowds and opt for rubbish waves at Bocaxica instead. Some large sets made it around the corner and made my day – big drops and lumpy faces. Skaty, uneven fun that took me to the beach several times…

Sunday  – a hangover the size of Birmingham procluded any type of surfing activity. I’m glad AD has only one birthday a year.

Monday – sunday’s hangover (now the size of a small family car) still looms. I’m getting too old for this shit…

I didn’t surf today.