Today, after missing out on a few very good days at the beach as we begin house hunting on the coast, and as I'd worked the entire weekend sitting editing another 'project' I snuck down for a quick surf in anticipation of the swell leaping skywards and me getting a bit of "wheeeee!!!" time.

Everyone else had the same idea.

And a contest was on at Bells.

So, after sitting watching far, far better surfers than me doing their thirty years younger thing I slipped out to join the 60 odd other guys in the line up at fun but inconsistent Winki. I did say to myself if I come away with one good wave I'll have done alright so equanimity was the face I wore and it was a surprisingly fun session.

A few friends littered the pack. Having a chat and a lot of patience meant, despite the crowd, no one was really stressed.

Have a chat. Catch a wave. Talk some more.

The way it should be.

The pic. One of the occasional sets, keeping the boys and girls honest.

The year is done and gone, I can't remember one I've been more glad to be rid of, as it was full of heartache and pain.

The world has pitched and yawed, and so has mine, with Dear Old Dad leaving us, and my darling kids going through more than the share normally expected of the transition years. Thankfully the problems are not to do with health or accident, just an exaggerated version of the trials that come with sticking your nose up against the world, or your Mum and Dad, and saying, "Go on, have a go!'.

Sigh.

To all of you out there I hope this coming year is kind or kinder. Happy New Year.

My surfing entry to it wasn't half bad, with a solid onshore session at largish Bells last week, and some pretty tasty lefts on the weekend.

Punctuating this was a call from Tyler Breuer from Smashsurf, wanting to do an interview with me on my life after Musica Surfica. Here it is. You might like to know what's up next.

My pics for the day are the two surfs above. The onshore Bell's was before it kicked to double the size and became really great fun as there were only four or five out.

The sound of the gnashing of teeth and the rending of garments is loud and being heard from every corner of Victoria at the moment, and no it is not because Kim Jong Il has bitten the proverbial bullet.

It's been near flat for weeks, and though I might paint a rosy picture with the pics today and those from last week, the truth is it is ugly. I can only hope that after Christmas some drought breaking swells arrive with happy winds to put some smiles back on a few faces.

Until I have something more to report or get a burst of inspiration I'll leave you with a couple of pics from Sunday. At the bottom end of what I can actually get to my feet in, the waves were pretty well shaped and fun until the swell Disappeared Completely. I wonder if Radiohead were playing over the top of the dunes?

PS: The first pic is a plant.

The Devil Winds ended for a morning and half an afternoon on Saturday, hot with a light breeze that slowly accelerated from the north, but not before gifting a couple of very fun sessions, lefts and rights, fun and games over two banks, with lunch in between, before a whopping storm hit and blew it all to bits.

That new board from Maurice is the duck's nuts, and it is clear any limitations are the plonker with his feet planted on the deck.

Easy into waves, fast, loose, but when you push it holds and it really does like to be put on its rail. I even managed to pigdog one of the larger lefts on takeoff and had a 'view' for a moment before getting swallowed.

That being said my good mate Richie maintains I still plant my top turn a little low and more 2:30 than 12 o'clock though he did concede I did whip one off worth a nod of approval. All I can say is good thing he isn't an ASP judge because had he judged me under that criteria I'd probably be summarily executed.

My other surfing highpoint of the weekend though was sneaking a few sessions viewing the Pipe Masters online and shedding a small tear for Kieran Perrow. It was so good to see someone being recognised for doing what he does best and loves most. Courageous surfing in heavy waves. Not frilly or flash. Strong, solid and when he did win all were happy.

Pics for tody: The left after the wind started to get into it, and the second front pushing through on the way home.
 

Almost two weeks without going near this door crack to another dimension, mostly because I haven't had much time, or perhaps because the old brain has had the fuzzies, what with 'life and all".

High point for a moment the week before last was trying a new board. If you don't surf you won't understand but getting new, lively glass and foam under the feet, feeling it out and seeing where it takes you, pushing lightly then pushing harder, asking I wonder if and getting an answer that shouts yes, well... it might be fleeting but I'll take that kind of ephemeral any day of the week.

And who cares if my bum sticks out sometimes.

Since then the weather has shifted into one of those devil systems.

An Oceanic Bad Hair Week.. or two.

Elsewhere thinking and planning for The Reef project, ... and again trying to make a buck, which is full of promise but no golden eagles crapping near me today. Fingers crossed for the next few days but until then a little snip from partner in crime Jonny Frank and the Glide. From this you can see why I'm looking forward to the next gig. 

The boards by the way are a six two and six ten, for the bigger days. Six two gets a big tick, the other will have to wait for a swell.

Pretty aren't they? 

At an impasse today, so a quick blog post is in order. A week and a half since the last entry, three surfs, two good, one crap, a son run over by a car, another ten days at Chez Madhouse.

Don't worry, if you are, the boy is ok, a rear ending lady not looking saved from a lifetime of guilt by good reflexes on Tom's part and a bit of luck. Young Tom has a lump on his shin and a wrecked bike, now replaced.

Work very quiet on the money earning front is being supplanted by the planning for the Reef, so at least I am occupied.

Pics: MC with a new big gun for Mark Matthews for Voldemort and other breaks in perilous Mordor, some very wind affected scrub, a lovely beachie, plus a quick snap of the fun Winki of Sunday.

Ho hum.

Lately I've found myself reflecting on what it was like to be 16, using 1970 as my yard stick with the combination of innocence, fear, and wonder that went with it.

The Vietnam War was in full swing, Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins and Buzz Aldrin had just been there and done that, big time, being our first official space tourists with ground time, and to my young eyes hippies were everywhere, my hair was too short, I'd just been on my first surf trip, camping with 13 mates, 11 of whom were named Mick (true) and the beginning of the ruin of my life had begun.

Just entering the final two years of high school, pissed off I was spending most of every weekend lugging bricks from the front of the house to the back to help the builders put an extra bedroom on the back of the house, watching the wind just in case it got over 30 knots and the crap waves that blew up on Port Phillip Bay let me get a splash (imagine the Great Lakes wind slop and divide it by 3), and hoping some girl, any girl, would look sideways at me, and that paints a fair picture of my time in the manhood starting blocks.

Add to that pimples, smelly feet, too much action in the underpants department, as in all dressed up and nowhere to go... Well it's about as much fun as sticking your head up an elephant's backside and trying to recite the soliloquy from Hamlet.

Fast forward forty two years and I am staring at two me's, one a Mini but catching up fast, and a Maxi, but stronger, faster, with more lip and more attitude, better looking and they have got me stumped.

The world has moved so much, the internet and the black spaces it offers have informed too much, and any challenge I mount to their all conquering world view is met with derision, as I lived in the stone age, and never did anything anyway.

True in a way. Got drunk at sixteen more than a few times, then decided it was for the birds and didn't touch the stuff again, until introduced to the glories of English beer at 24. Never smoked anything either, ever. So yep, boring young fart, now a boring old fart but I loved and still love my watery delights, living in my head, trying to love my family, re-inventing or perhaps de-inventing my working life and that is more than enough for me.

Where is this going? Not sure, just venting a little as working out how to guide and protect is becoming an increasingly tough gig.

One day I might write a book about it. For now I'll buy another box of band aids for my noggin. Headbutting the door to make a point has its drawbacks.

Pics

Tiny but fun Winki and Bells. Solace for a Sore Head on Saturday