The coast was smiling yesterday.

A groomed 4-6ft plus swell, consistent, warm, offshore. If I was french I'd be going ooh la la.

On days like this though you can sometimes end up a bit frustrated. So many waves, which to choose, where to go out? On top of that the lucky boys of the Torquay Boardriders had the day slated for Bells, so they had its empty perfection to themselves.

Oddly, and a testament to what can happen when people choose to get along, is that although many chose Winki, myself included, there were solo waves and laughter for the entire afternoon. Of course there were exceptions, but the spirits were collectively willing.

It was good to see, as young rippers and old coots mixed it up and really enjoyed a near perfect mix of conditions.

Before I went out I said to myself just two good ones will make a good session.

As it happened I had four or five, a couple of which rate in the all time category. Not one to hoot, the best had me screaming at the top of my lungs at the end of 200 metres of speed and carve.

Sure, I had the odd hammering, probably looked a complete goose on a couple too, as that is de rigueur pour moi, but... it was bloody good.

Alas, my old mate Harley, hung over and very much the worse for wear after a bucks night the night before, never really got on song.

Harls loves riding the Hynd finless. Today was not his day.

Looking across as he attempted a big peak, I wasn't feeling particularly comfy about the looming hook behind as catastrophe courted him and he launched right into the maw of a very thick lip.

Two jagged pieces surfaced, the board making a V for victory sign, while Harley rose, took one look, and looking anything but victorious held his head in his hands before sinking to the bottom in despair.

Surfacing, he made a desolate sight as the waves washed him in.

I had to shrug it off as 'stuff. With the experience of many busted boards in the past, a broken board is not a dead one. It will be resurrected, perhaps a little portly, but a bit of weight never hurt anyone and I wouldn't throw a wobbler over the uncontrollable anyway.

It was great day, either way.

Pics, Emptiness, Perfection and Winki. I'd have better shots but my battery ran out.

We finally saw my dear old Dad off this week.

A cracker funeral, if such a word really should apply, plenty of tears, a fair few laughs, and to paraphrase Led Zeppelin, a whole lotta love.

As the new family elder (yikes), the eulogy fell to me, I made it, falteringly at times, through the 4000 odd words (long, I know, but he had quite a story to tell), and my greatest pleasure was the number of people who came up and said, "I never knew that".

Into the night and into the next day, the Black Irish came out, we all got very happy, the very bad jokes flew... "my dad was really badly burned.. oh dear, is he ok?,, ...well they don't hang around at those crematoriums..."

The end result? A great, good life was celebrated in a great and good way.

As I left to fly back out in the front yard I heard laughter and play.

My 25 year old niece Marcy was playing pirates with little Hanna and Harry, the youngest two of my brother Billy.

Life goes on.

Pa would have smiled.

Pics: Dad's gift of waves the weekend before the funeral, his bouquet of wildflowers, and the Battling Pirates.

POSTSCRIPT: My mate Mick Waters has made a pretty astonishing contribution to the Innersections Project, with a mindboggling little film on Proportion and Rastovich. Log in and vote Mick!

Sometimes the sands align, and parts of our coast just love it when the winds dawdle and the swells fluke about, sneaking in from the rare east, nudging and tweaking in a delightful dance with rock and rip.

When that happens and the swell swings back to the south west, but doesn't get too big, there can be some beautiful music.

On both Saturday, and Sunday, many days preceding, maybe even today I suspect, banks and occasional reefs that need that little extra help fired on all cylinders.

I had a little hunt about first saw some near gems, but they were oddly fogbound and too lonely, so we opted for company and a very small crowd, just up the road.

And the waves were good.

Pics: Some mystery spots that didn't make the cut,, but are worth checking because occasionally....

And, in the sunshine, what we got.

Mid winter in Vicco. For a few minutes we were in t-shirts. And would you believe, that where I surfed yesterday, the bottom shot, for at least an hour there were just three of us. No that I'm rubbing it in...or anything. Second bottom was Saturdays wave, just for variety.

After a big, very emotional week and the prospect of an empty house all weekend, what with my little family scattered to the winds, Sue still away on a long deserved chance to catch up with friends overseas, Tom in LA causing mayhem I hope (not) and Joey up the snow after saving all year, well... Old (true) Fatboy (truer) went for a splash, two days in a row.

Good waves too. Saturday, a lovely bank to our east, busyish but friendly.

A little explore later scored a D'oh moment when Richie and I found a little reef firing with two guys out, and not enough time to play.

Sunday, flukey winded and unsure of what was happening, I waited, did some chores and then made a run... hitting the water just as the wind changed.

Going in anyway, the wind swung back and back again. All corners of the compass it managed to find and a few corners I found too. Rode Winki Lowers practically by myself in side, cross and onshore but never over 10 knots, and had a ball on the hull. The odd four foot set started to become a consistent one, and by the time my arms wouldn't work any more both Winki and Bells Rincon were looking very fine indeed, especially when it was one of those days when many had written it off.

Slept as well as I could wish, but a lot on the old mind when I think of the weeks ahead.

Or am I just being a little pessimistic?

Pics: A lovely bank, the empty reef, lowers at Winki just before I went out, and the lucky few at Bells late in the day.

I do love Victoria.

At the beginning of the year I was up in Queensland, a Christmas spent as an extended bedside vigil as my Dear Old Dad clung to life, his beady eye occasionally fixed on we, the gathered family, as if to say, "I'm not going anywhere just yet."

This morning that anywhere was where he went, as we finally lost our dearest of men to the fight and fate of all of us. I'd had my ticket booked, due to spend a week with him come Wednesday.

You feel robbed sometimes. Today was one of them.

I spoke to Pa last week, he was getting very confused, which is hard as he had a mind like a steel trap, but I knew when I was speaking that he was listening, that he knew we cared and loved him.

Experience has taught me that the last thing to go is that comprehending mind. Confusion may reign when trying to gather thoughts, and communicating, but if all you need to say is said, they will understand.

If I go with a shred of the good humour, grace and dignity as my old man, I will be blessed.

This past weekend was spent with my friends Rod, Hazel and young Benjamin down south. My favourite coast, temporarily waveless, but a delight to stand on the brink of vast horizons. A few snaps on a cliff edge, one now entirely appropriate. Benji on infinity's brink, a metaphor for my Dad on the his last full day.

Benji with a life ahead.

Dad with his life trials behind, ahead a grand adventure, or a long, good, night.

I loved and love you always, you wonderful man.

Goodbye Dad.

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)