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.

A late update on the weekend past, sporadically wave filled and otherwise a recovery from a fair bit of travel.

Using a work related visit to near the waves I managed to slyly slide into a few blue walls on Friday, and repeated the same on Saturday as the empty house beckoned me to abandon it to wintry wind that spelt offshore and groomed on a not so distant shore.

I've been back on the six two lately and trying out some new C-drive fins that I must say are really worth the effort to get used to. Oddly shaped but with great logic behind them, these things are truly the duck's nuts, and I am managing, when the cold doesn't cause the old waist down gone wandering, to pull some of the best turns I have done in many a long year. They may be down at lowers and sans witness, but my feet are telling me magic is happening, and the sight and sound of that sheet of water disappearing off the top or in a cutback tells me some happy tales.

MC has been converted to them through Ross Clarke-Jones, who is using them on his tow boards and is utterly sold.

Continuing the ad filled direction of this post, I've included HERE the why of my trip near the coast, to present what I'm calling the first of my MiniDocs. Little stories about passionate people doing their thing.

I tried to put it up as a video but because of the damned cropping that happens if you want to take a look just click the link.

Shots today: Winki and Bells over the weekend. Not that big, but a whole lot of fun and surprisingly uncrowded, though there was a wait between sets.

I sometimes regret saying what a week that was.

Having dropped young Tom off at the airport not expecting to see him for weeks, I get a call last Wednesday week from Richard Tognetti, over in California at the Ojai Music Festival.

Get over here Mick, it's bigger than Ben Hur and you should be here to present your film.

Bugger me you come up with some crap Rich, are you sure?

Come!

So a rapid realisation that my passport had run out had me running around like a blue arsed fly trying to sort that, entry, tickets and blow me down if I wasn't on the same flight as Tom one week later.

Red eyed and bewildered I hopped a bus north to Ventura, then a taxi to Ojai and straight into a massive concert, watched waves of rapturous applause bathe Richard and the ACO, and came to the stunning realisation that they are even more incredible than I thought, and then, near collapse, had to get a rest. I was staying with Richard and Satu, at a lovely house right on a point not far from Rincon, and when I spotted little two foot peelers up the point I thought, where's a board, where's a board?

In the shed a whole rack as it turned out so into the wetty (yes I did throw it in) and out for an hour and a half loll about in lieu of a sleep, had a pod of dolphins hang out with old fatboy, plus a seal who looked at me rather strangely when I said 'Oi!' Caught four or five nice little peelers on the red nine six too.

Better than a sleep, then back in for the night performances, more of the same btilliance, look up the festival. The line up was the cream of the music world. Then Sunday, my turn came as I presented the film, packed house, turned away 50-80 I'm told, and a lot of renewed interest. Where it goes I'm not sure but it gave me renewed hope for the sequel we are planning next year.

Then a big surprise the next day as I went south, surprised the ratbag son in his luxury skate dood pad with jacuzzi and pool, met his World Champ buddy and saw he was as happy as a pig in a big pile of shite, though he did say 'what the hell are you doing here Dad?' as I had given him no indication I was showing up.

Sneaker old bugger aren't I?

Then more trains, planes and automobiles, all the way back to good old OZ.

Big Week. Knackered.

Pics: Concerts, boards, queues to see my film and young Tom ( I hate smiling at cameras) with the champ, Brian Aragon. Nice chap too.

What a weekend.

If you've ever read this blog before you'll be aware of my depilatory (as in I lose hair over him) younger son, Hell Boy, The Devil Incarnate, Skate Demon, my darling Tommy.

Over the past weeks we've been debating an offer we've had and this Saturday he flew off to LA to spend a couple of months skating with and being filmed with some of the best skaters in the world. They obviously have a high opinion of him, it will do him a world of good in so many ways, and be a grand introduction to the big wide world.

Staying in the San Diego area, if you see a tousle headed, low riding ratbag about ten feet in the air and possibly upside down... that is Tom.

Say hi if you do.

Free of worrying about what he is up to next I had a run at the water. Saturday I got to Bells, spotted my mate Maurice in the car park and this shiny red 5'11 he'd been riding. Hmmmm...

Can I have a go mate... I'll drop it by the house after...

No worries he says.

Then he fixes me with one of those blisteringly beady eyes he has.

Now don't ding it, don't stick it on top of the car and drive off without tying it on, stay away from any major storms, and bring it home safe.

Hoooweee.. she'll be apples, says I.

Out there and just getting the feel of it, a couple of small ones then this nice outside set on the Rincon bubble comes through.. I'm in the spot, take off and woops a young surfer without too much experience panics as old fatty takes off and ditches the board right in front of me, pushing it into my line as a dark and fearful little head disappears under water.

Naturally, I jump over the top, not wanting ANY damage to MC's board.

Under water the familiar tug doesn't eventuate at all, and I surface to the horror of a leggie string that has come undone while the board is having a fine ride of its own right into the rocks of High Tide Bells.

Sprint swimming and rock hopping like a demented frog I got to the now completely trashed speed machine with a sinking heart.

I couldn't have done better with an axe and a couple of ball peen hammers.

So back to the car to change boards as I had to delay the inevitable, and I still wanted to get a few. Taking the finless out this time, I did have some fun and did get one very memorable one into the shorebreak but, to be honest, my heart was not in it any more.

Skulking back to Maurice's, he was just waking up for his afternoon nap in front of the football.

How'd ya go? Good board aye?

Bloody great mate but.....

Don't tell me, just stick it in the back of the car...

No mate you better have a look, and besides it was your string that came undone, grovel, snivel, make excuses.

God bless him, I lived to get in the car and drive home.

Next day, corduroy to the horizon, five foot and very lovely, I had three hours in a strong offshore, some good, some bad, I do need a bigger than 6-2 when it gets bigger.

Pics: My young Tom wacking the camera and saying don't be a goose Dad as I try to take his picture at the airport, and the fun waves pre and post surf yesterday.