A long stretch in front of a computer screen, neck cricking, and about as much fun as sticking pins in my eyes.

That the work was mildly satisfying created some balance but even typing this is hurting like hell..

So to finish the day before I face the evening, a quick look at last Monday and the glory of a clifftop view. This bit of coast is my heaven, the cliff you can throw my wispy ashes from come the day. If I can't live there I might as well be sand there.

Mick's Bank.

That has a nice ring to it.

I wouldn't even mind if it was a left.

The black dog is not beaten, and today he took the form of a fifteen year old on the rampage.

Driving to school ended up with with a shouting match, a slammed door and my hand around his scrawny neck... not necessarily in that order.

That I love the little rat dearly and that he pulls more strings than Pinocchio ever had only makes the whole pathetic mess even worse. I won't even say what got was blurted out as the car door slammed. Not a good start to the day.

Which is a bummer really as yesterday I scored the best splash in ages.

Not perfect by any means, but some punch and no crowds was certainly a good start to the week. Location remains a secret but those who know will most likely spot the spot. A couple of belters including a massive double up that allowed a couple of what felt like hall of fame off the tops before the cocky old fart got well and truly slapped on lip hit number three.

What can I expect at 56? (Birthday last week)

Still the 6'2" flew and given it was my first real surf in weeks I was pretty happy.

I noticed I haven't posted for a couple of weeks.

The surf's been crap, and I'm attempting to kill a black dog.

Metaphoric of course.

I promised not so many surf reporty posts from now on, and it's a pretty easy call as we are now on week three of the rubbish month from hell... though I have had reports of some scores in remote locations by those in the know.

Sunday, screaming onshore and wave desperate, I drove down anyway with only things finless, and took the bigger alaia out at a tormented point break, in the hope of catching some little ones, or working out how to. What a joke. Either I'm pathetic (likely) or the alaia is the world's most frustrating wave catching vehicle. eventually I drifted down the point, and ended up jumping into waves. White water sliding. I actually stood up for the odd moment..

The journey continues.

Yesterday my mate Jed Done from Bushrat and one of the stars of Musica Surfica sent me a shot of a recent board, a Hynd fish decorated with a masterwork by South Coast artist Stan Squire.

It's a cool read, and a beautifully made board. As is every one of Jed's. He is a master.

Enjoy.

I feel like the old blog has been suffering a bit lately...

It's been pretty head down bum up since getting back from my devil son rattled break, and too, it's been turning into a bit of a surf report.

One can't help but feel that the wave catching antics of a soon to be 56 year old hold less than magnetic appeal. Maybe I'm just in a funk.

My dear old dad is crook, but as he says a cancer diagnosis is just an excuse to eat more oysters, and God love him if that's the attitude I'm gonna have some too.

Over the past weeks I've been designing and doing the production of a cookbook that is donating all its profits to the Kinglake Ranges Country Fire Authority. These are the brave souls who put their lives on the line in the monster fires of this time last year. It might seem a bad joke to do a cookbook about the fires, but this one a bit different, as it is the recipes that served the victims well in the weeks after the fires, wholesome family cooking with a few exotics thrown in, all cheap and easy to prepare, all a testimony, as the book says, to the healing power of community and eating together.

Family food that's good for the soul.

So if you are into it visit the site and order a book. Wouldn't they love it to know people from far away are buying a Kinglake Cookbook?

In between times as I said in an earlier post, I went over to Western Australia a couple of weeks back for the Yallingup Surfilm Festival.

For me the highlights were seeing the other films, catching the odd wave and hanging out with some incredibly inspiring people. Surf Aid's founder Dr Dave Jenkins was there, Tommy Wegener, the skipper of Indies Trader Martin Daly flew his pirate flag and won with Sea of Darkness, while the young but remarkable Seth Hunt and his 'brother', Moacir Zeladon told a story that will make a big impression on all who get to see "Somewhere Near Tapachula"

Huge applause goes to Jesca Maas, who conceived and organised the festival. It was a marvel, as is she.

From a surfing point of view, though I was crap, spending an afternoon chasing waves with Tom Wegener was a hoot, as the insights I got, as a surfer and one time alaia shaper, from a captive Tom while we drove about that magnificent coast were pretty special.

He is a boundlessly enthusiastic guy, but boy does he love a drink.

The shots of Tom on the Yallingup site receiving his award are of a very sauced up Tom, champagne bottle just out of sight, and I'm stuffed if I know how he got up at 5am to get the plane.

So shots today... the book, me at the film makers forum with chair, WA film maker Richard Todd, and Tommy, on fire, plus another shot of some old fart pretending he knows what he's about to do with an alaia..

Sometimes you find little gems when they are least expected.

This past week and a half has seen Victoria's devil winds, the dreaded south easter which, when coupled with bugger all swell, means we are in for lean times. Any swell is short period slop, but if you know where to look and get lucky with the God of Sand Banks, wonderful things can happen.

Last Saturday night, I was tired and couldn't really be stuffed with the idea of dragging myself the hour and half to the most likely prospect of anything, but left a message with Rich to say... if you can be bothered, I'll tag along.

Needless to say he was bothered, so at 6.30 we blearily made our way down an already sunlit highway.

We found the spot below, in the lee of a big headland, with two perfect banks and as pretty a right and left as you're ever likely to see. Shoulder high at best, but steep and punchy enough to let Mr Porky and his pal into more than a few fun runners.

It just goes to show.

January ended with a bit of a bang down here in Vicco.

Tales of good waves filtering in as a decent little swell lit up lots of spots with tubes, hot weather (37C), warm water and an all day offshore.

Saturday I surfed kinda sloppy but fun Bells around 4-6ft, can't say I killed it but then I rarely can. On the other hand at the end of my session MC paddled out and I managed to catch the beginning of a pretty hell snap as I sauntered around betowelled and becamera'd in the carpark. (Not a pretty sight).

Yesterday at good old 13th, barrel fest is probably the best description. If you were young and quick, you got a lot, if you are nearly 56, you got a couple and buggered one up. (I suck at pigdogging)

Aaaah but you only need one.

A long session, some hell drops, a few beltings and one very good view from the inside as the oncoming section prepared to swallow me whole.

Twenty four hours later there's still water dribbling from my nose.

Pics:
13th, wailing, and MC on Saturday, test driving a little Metro.