Last week Melbourne held its rarer than the Olympics Melbourne International Chamber Music Competition.

Some of the best classical musicians from around the world in ten odd days of high end arts that was punctuated by a day of film and discussion at the Wheeler Centre in Melbourne. Bringing up the rear, but with a good crowd who told me I didn't sound too moronic, was yours truly and french film maker Georges Zeisel, in a discussion moderated by Richard Moore of Screen Queensland, on classical music and film.

The response to Musica was great and it is a continuing blessing to me that it draws the reactions it does, this time to a decidedly un-surfing crowd who had me signing dvd's and chatting for quite a while afterwards.

A lot of fun, amidst some very fine people.

The weekend was an aftermath of the previous swell filled week, and beach breaks were the go. I'd loaded up the car prepping for a solo run when I get a text from young Harley, who has fallen in love with the Hynd finless.

"Going for a surf?"

"OK Harls, get here as soon as you can."

Always good company as we talk about art, painting and the universe, in no time we were in front of a lonely beach break peak, Harley having it all over Old Fatboy as he very rapidly approaches DH in facility on said board.

I was having a slow session, then a left started to appear on the sets on an outer section of bank. Lucking into a big 'un, the first of three was a great wave but had that "I've been on my forehand for far too long" feel about it.

Another two saw rhythm and muscle memory kick back, lovely long rides and a few fair turns..

Then I swapped, cold and stiff, on to the finless, wobbled a couple, frozen solid, so went in.

More art and the universe on the way back, fun day, could have been warmer.

The other thing of interest over the week was the Radio Marinara spot I did recently went to podcast, so you can listen if you feel so inclined.

Pics: the peak, with Harley eager to get wet, and the beach.

All sorts of action in my world this weekend...

A huge weather system has sent the south and east coasts into overdrive, generating some pretty unusual media hype and a lot of spectator attendance at the better known surfspots.

Swell hitting 50ft or more in exposed locations, with unknown bombies breaking, generating comments like "the whole coast has turned into one big shorebreak".

It was rather big.

My old favourites, Bells and Winki, saw car park attendance approaching the Easter crowds, while out in the water it thinned down to the usual suspects, and even amongst those, the hell paddle out and sweep encouraged the odd few or three to try a cleaner option. I went for Cathedral Rock, just down the coast, no secret so I give nothing away, but its wind protection made it silky. Unfortunately many others had the same idea so it wasn't going to be a solo session.

At a solid six to maybe eight feet, and pretty relentless, the odd BOMB fertilised a nerve wracking affair on the paddle out. Making my run in what I thought was a lull, I ended up getting absolutely hammered, swept past the headland and down the coast, reaching clear water and the line up some 300 or more metres east of where I started.

And about ready to heave. All the way I was saying to myself, 'you stupid old fart, vomit, why do you put yourself, vomit vomit, in these positions?'

A shakey starter wave under my belt, plus a little patience saw me get the best wave I've ever had out there. Easy three times overhead and 200 metres to play with. Unfortunately I can't show you a picture yet, there is one, but Ed Sloane, the photographer, has embargoed me, so you'll have to believe Pinocchio. Suffice to say it was long and big, and I didn't feel like a dill.

Hmm. Long and big. That certainly is Pinocchio country.

Moving right along...The rest of the session had mixed rewards. The good, the bad, the very ugly. Ugly in that I had to climb up the leg rope from black depths more than once. Oh what fun.

Come Sunday I had bragging rights on Radio Marinara, as I'd been asked to go in and talk about movies, blogging and what else is on in my little world. In a few days you can listen to it via podcast if you're vaguely interested, and will post a link come that day. It actually does make a good listen, as the regular hosts in Dr Beach, Dr Surf, and the lovely Bron, make nitwits like me appear to know and say things interesting.

The other highpoint was a Skype call with Beelzebub, his Satanic Majesty My Darling Tommy, looking dishevelled and skaterish, as you would expect.

A brush, a brush, my kingdom for a brush.!

Well, you can see why Shakespeare re wrote that line.

"Oh by the way Dad, my passport got stolen."

Good of you to tell me Tom.

Another bloody headache.

Pics; The smaller ones shot by my happy snapper, and old fat boy (I've since had a shave} with Bron and the almost totally anonymous team at 3RRR Radio Marinara. (Dr Surf tells me if his boss works out exactly who is taking all those days off to surf he's in a lot of strife)

There is a fair amount of swell action on the eastern and southern coasts of Australia at the moment.

Conveniently a couple of meetings on the coast allowed a belt at Winki yesterday. I say belt guardedly, as, when you combine age, board length, crowd (more than pictured by orders of magnitude) and the infamous Winki sweep, I managed four waves in just under two hours. Two were great, two were pretty average (actually one was a whipping) I would call it a... no.. I would still call it a good session.

Nice attitude in the water, a lot of chatter, both in the cold and talking kind, a shark at Bells ("something big just bumped me"), some nervous laughter... "it'll go for you not me" sort of talk, and all in all good value.

The bombs were approaching real Bomb status, and it will be a good warm up for Saturday as the forecast is twice as big. They were calling this 4-5ft in the reports and I think it was a bit bigger than that. Since the prediction is 8-10 feet a six two will not do the trick for old fatboy come the weekend.

I think the bigger board will have to come out of the rafters. Should be fun if I manage to get past the shore break.

I do a lot of sitting waiting for things to happen.

Send emails out to space waiting for something to come back. Sometimes an idea might pop into the head and I run with it, or watch a render bar snail its way across a screen, the tap of finger on desk beating a rhythm out, frustration music you might call it, waiting, looking at that display, waiting something else.

Waiting and wondering what that kid of yours is doing, or waiting and wondering how the rent is going to get paid this month, dreading that first day of the new month when it is past the rent has just been paid, to soon the rent will be due.

Of course some of that waiting is spent waiting after trying to make things happen, and sometimes they do.

A couple of days ago I set a ball rolling, and in six weeks or so, that ball will, or won't, begin to turn. While I juggle one, I try to juggle another.

I hate the screen, and love it too, because when you're not waiting, little bits of magic happen, though they lack the stick and texture of paint, or the drag of pen and pencil.

Curious business this, making stuff up, letting your mind run a bit and wondering what might pop up.

Like this post.

Rendering is happening so short of sucking up every bit of remaining memory doing some major other, you get the booby prize, and read this.

A mention of things aqueous naturally fits the bill, and despite a swell report about as flat as it ever gets around here, I did manage a paddle out at one of those little nooks that delivers the goods when all else is ripples.

Found by walking through canopied pathways and windswept dune, it's a little reef named after a Popular English Pie. Barely breaking, but here and there something, crowded with six young guys who, as I sat in their midst, indulged in a conversation of hilarious paint peeling crudity, while happily depriving the old fart of every wave that came in.

Cunning (or patience) though gets the waves, and while the full tide turned into a one foot deep airdrop for a two foot wave, a slight drop in tide allowed the outside to tip over and the sets started to work further out... but only after everyone had gone in and I'd sat for a bit.

I was freezing, but I managed three or four smilers.

Worth the walk, the wait, and the wind.

Shots: the shrouded path, and a couple of waves. The left has a boogie boarder clean dry tubed, and invisible. I swear he's there. Useful things, those little boards.