The first of June.

Sorry folks, it's been a while! Time to lively up myself I think but not too quickly; so I'll start with a piece that was commissioned by White Horses for their 'Winterfell' issue (#6). The charge was for all the regular contributors to write/paint/photograph something all on the same day (June 1st) and the mag was put together in a time line of that day. It worked out great I reckon but you should buy it and see for yourself!

Any way like I said, I'm not gonna get too cheery on ya first up following my last post (I briefly thought of removing it, but it was/is a reflection of my thoughts right at that moment and I can tell you they've been through a whole plethora of ups and downs since, and if I'm honest they've almost come back to right where that post was). 

Come on Gazza get on with it......


The Editor somewhat (I feel) disengenously titled this 'Whinging Pom' and this was before the cricket! But he sends the cheque so I ain't gonna argue too much.  

Jeez, what a bloody miserable morning. It reminds me of the UK. Cold, damp and slightly on-shore. It’s drizzling and although there’s swell, it’s all over the place. The messy waves I can cope with but the cold… I didn’t move to Australia to stand shivering on a beach watching the sun make a feeble attempt at penetrating clouds in an effort to convince me it’s trying to make a dawn. If you want to draw positives from the scene you could say it looked Turner-esq but that would just remind me of my old home again. 

Pete’s there, as is Graham. They both live close by, Graham close enough to cycle. He used to drive but since his hernia op he now sticks his board on his pushie and gets a bit of exercise. It has to be pretty inhospitable outside for Graham not to be checking it in the morning. He’s only got one board and I reckon he’s had it a fair while. It’s not white anymore. He tends not to push himself too much when it gets bigger and is happy to sit and watch but up to 3’ he’ll be getting as many waves as anyone.

Pete points out that it’s the first day of winter. Fuck, it was only just Christmas wasn’t it? June 1^st, 16 days until my birthday, always a summer occasion, but not now I’m upside down. Pete’s what girls would call sweet. He’s no spring chicken but there aren’t too many young’uns that surf here unless the Old’s bring ‘em. You have to have a ride. I like Pete, he’s mild mannered, doesn’t curse and he always asks questions, not just out of politeness either. He’s off to Bali for the first time in September. I hope he likes it but let’s face it, Bali in September can be hard work. He worries a bit too. When it’s big he always tells you to be careful when you paddle out.  

The kneelo fella and his son are next to turn up for a squizz. Funny buggers, kneelos that is. I reckon there are two types of kneelos; the eccentric loners that appear almost embarrassed by their choice of slide. They shuffle down the beach wearing a brand of wetsuit you’ve never heard of and occasionally some sort of random head gear then walk backwards into the surf like they’re retreating from the real world. The other is this fella, he’s proud, he doesn’t wear fins and he paddles around people to get waves. His son is late teens and in love with Craig Anderson. I know this ‘cos he tries his bloody hardest to look like the bendy boy from Newcastle in and out of the water. He even kicks off his waves and does stupid little pirouettes and shit. I feel bad now, it’s my own prejudices. They always say hello. 

My pocket’s buzzing; it’s one of two people at this time in the morning. Brian O’Brian or Sensei. There’s a few Brian’s and this one’s Irish, his real name’s Foster, but that’s too boring. Anyway it’s not him it’s the other… Sensei. Wayne got me into Yoga, he’s got an air-con business and when he needs some lifting and shifting I help him out. He’s trying his hardest to teach me refrigeration, so Sensei he is. He tips the balance of whether I should paddle out or not. A cold room door at the Uni needs replacing he can only access it on a weekend and he could do with a hand, should only be a couple of hours he reckons. 

He was right. Two hours pocket money for me. In the mean time I’ve missed a call from the other one. He’s excited when I call him back, the winds swung more South and it’s cleaning up. Poor old Sensei has to go and do a quote in the hinterlands so I head to Maroochydore to meet Brian alone. It’s 3’ on the sets and the winds across and off. To me, it rarely looks inviting in the bay. I guess it’s a combination of things; I never go there when it’s really good ‘cos the less crowded beaches will be better, so, I only ever see it when the winds got too much south for elsewhere.  A river mouth at both ends of the beach means the water is rarely clear, plus being a town there’s always a few out too. But you know what? I always have a good surf there, and despite the crowd, the sky, the colour and the date, today is no exception. Cheers for the call Brian.

Footnote. The next day was the polar opposite! Stunning sunrise, a whiff of a West grooming head high peaks up and down the whole coast. I surfed with Brian and two other guys for 3 1/2hrs in the morning then went back to the same spot in the arvi for another 2hrs on my own before dark. I got home sunburnt and had tap nose, in bed by nine I was twitching as I fell asleep.

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