After so many years in advertising you'd think I never wanted to do another ad, but no. Consider this post an ad if you feel like it.

I was contacted a couple of days ago by a young surfwear company, Rapanui, based on the Isle of Wight in the UK.

Now my immediate thought was "how the hell do you start a surfwear company out of there?"

That they did and it is succeeding is cause for applause, and worthy of support. Why? An almost obsessive devotion to sustainability, the discipline to find ways to make a company work without exploiting third world labor forces, and what appears to be an ability to start as good guys with an idea and stay that way some years later.

God I'm a master of business analysis.

Anyway, have a look at their site, and perhaps you will be persuaded to ADD TO CART. They have some great T's and the gear list is growing. I'm in for one of the bamboo T's when I actually make another buck.

Naturally I had to rummage about for an Isle of Wight wave and found the peak below.

Not much to complain about there. One thing I noticed in my travels to the surfing parts of the UK is that the locals are as hard core as they come, with a level of surfing rising exponentially. I've heard more than once of returning Mentawai travellers complaining of hot young Poms (that's Australian for English, said with love) stealing all the waves.

Who'd have imagined?

I suspect as they discover more of those slabs and bombies that seem to appear momentarily during those ridiculous tidal pulses enjoyed in the North Atlantic we'll begin to see the hellman count rise as well.

Good luck chaps.

A crisp, cold morning, an early start because we needed an early return, running east this time and a favoured spot frequent visitors will recognize. Inconsistent, but clean with banks everywhere, Rich and I opted for the furthest, and least favoured of the many ruler edged triangles of sand.

As you can see from the second shot, with that little bald head, it wasn't too bad, and we had it to ourselves for a couple of hours. Light offshore, glassy at times, it did my head good, not in.

Good thing Rich was driving as I nodded off three times on the way back.

Hello to another week. I hope you have a good one.

It had to come sometime.

Last Wednesday, a quiet work day (again) and the report of some good waves prompted me to nip down for an early. Got to the place most likely with hopes that the crowd might be reasonable. It was, but though delightful to look at, the swell was sporadic.

Opting to go out anyway very early in the session, having decided perhaps wrongly to go Bells instead of Winki, I had the misfortune to overhear a conversation abut a wave I had paddled for and backed out of somewhat ungracefully on seeing a guy coming through on the inside.

Apparently the question to the offending answer was "who nearly took off in front of me?"

The answer, etched now on my hearing neurons...forever.

"The old guy"

Ouch...

The chap who said it spotted that I'd overheard, smiled, and then said " I suppose I shouldn't throw stones.. I'm no spring chicken myself." I laughed and commented that I still think I had twenty years on him.

Whatever, the tone was set, and for that session, or at least most of it, slow and less than spring loaded was how I felt.

The session was rescued later by a good run through Rincon before getting dropped in on, and a pretty fair wave with a nice slice off the top, that gave me that shooshy sound as I swung around.

As they say, one good turn deserves another but my follow up turn coming off the next bottom turn ended in near disaster as the wave suddenly flattened and I hit a bump. Went for about five feet balanced on one leg doing a reasonable impression of a statue of someone running, 'cept I was doing it on a surfboard.

Went in after too long, woke up with a cold.

Hastily snapped pics... Winki, and Bells.

This past three days has been catch up time.

Friday, an early surf with friend Rich from Sydney, down for a couple of concerts and as ever this provides a chance for a splash.

Small Winki, slightly onshore but uncrowded and great fun, we played swapsies between a 5'11" Maurice Cole and my Derek Hynd finless. Both epic fun boards in very different ways, it was a brilliant morning. Delivering him back to the The Australian Club, a very highbrow establishment in the middle of Melbourne, a frenzied pop on of the jacket and tie over jeans and flannels so that he can get back in.. hilarious stuff though it seems the establishment is very good value once you have the 'in', which RT has in spades.

What has sufficed as a 'tie' over the past months has beggared belief... maybe we should try a leg rope one day.

As I leave him and head to the first set of lights, I rather alarmingly discover I have no brakes, and limp warily through the city to a garage where I discover I've blown a brake hose.. Hoo-bloody-ray as I'm supposed to drive another two hours inland to spend a father son night with a bunch of dads and their respective sons... an overnight camp out that was due to start in three hours.

Repairs being a top up of the reservoir, I limped home, jumped on my bike, rode to where Sue had her car parked for work, chained the bike to a post, drove home, packed the car and then drove two hours or more to a pair of fireside rings of chairs in a field in the middle of the old Victorian goldfields.

Fathers and sons sitting, freezing, sharing what it is like to be fifteen, what it's like to be 'old', and how to get through the slings and arrows of life and enjoy doing it.

A great evening though a night under the stars in temperatures around zero on hard packed dirt was, for me, sleepless at best, though most of the kids slept like tops.

Saturday and Sunday? Spent catching up with number two son, still the same lovable ratbag, but a noticeably mellower one.

Ended Sunday with a trip to see Robin Hood (loved it) and then home to pizza while Tom resumed his next four weeks away.

Pics, the boards from the Friday morning surf, a few snaps from the delightful town of Clunes, where it is very easy to swing a cat, and ending with Sue and Tom in a quiet moment, just before the movie.

There was a time when the Australian vernacular, our slang, was something that we delighted in. Rich, steeped in history. Words like bowyang (not quite a garter), and grouse (really good). Of course 'fair dinkum' (truly), cobber (friend, colleague), mate (well... ya mate) were mainstays, but they were just the thin skin of something that occupied three full pages in the Encyclopedia Britannica.

We'd laugh at attempts in films to "do" Australian, the way a foreign actor could never get the accent, or misused a word. There were unwritten rules that made usage either right, or very wrong. Only we knew them.

Now times have changed. Meryl Streep nailed the accent in Evil Angels, and even Robin Williams did ok as he did a hatchet job on us recently on David Letterman, though he got so much wrong, confusing Australian Rules football with Rugby League and some crap about flying snakes??? I haven't seen one for weeks. He's right in one way though in that everything here will kill you. As well, the kids today, with all their exposure to foreign film and tv have, though they retain an Australian accent in one of its many forms, taken up dude speak at the expense of their past.

Those of us a little older though hold on, in some degree, to old loves.

Yesterday, and on Saturday, the waves were grouse.

Fair dinkum. My oath.

If only the bloke doing the slash was me.

To the point of cliche, timing is everything. As I sit here I gather it is anything from 15 feet grading down, depending where you want to search on our long and lovely coast.

There is a slight ripple on my coffee so you can work out where I am.

A Saturday run saw the back end of a lovely swell from last week, which was happily missed as a visit to my dear old Dad interstate was my lot. A great catch up, sitting, laughing, talking about old times with a mixture of joy and that sad feeling you get when you realize how time sits coiled on your shoulder.

Good days, though my knees and ankles are suffering as the runs in the hilly terrrain of Dadland did the legs in.

So back to Saturday. Pretty much a carbon copy of last Monday. Small, strong offshore and crowded, but if you were cunning you could get the odd good one. I first opted for Winki, scored a cracker on the get go and thought you beauty I'm in for a good one. An hour and a half later with nothing more to speak of except people, I paddled back around the point, walking up Bells to join the crowd. More consistent, running long and tight on the point, it proved worthwhile as the crowd kept drifting off the take off while I managed to be a clever dick, bolting wide as the faintest ripple of a set waved at me from way out back.

A couple right through to the beach made the day.

Sunday and onshore, I busied myself with a little project I've been mucking about with. A few weeks back I took a few snaps of the Hellboy, (you're weird dad) with the hope of getting an essence in wax.

Early days and a bit detail obsessed even for my hammy fingers, but as it is refined it may look OK.

Pics: Winki, Bells doing its high tide point break thing, the reference shot of Tommy from my iPhone, and where I'm at.

This past weekend was the Anzac Day holiday... Australia's time to reflect on the lives sacrificed in war.

One thing I have noticed is that, as the years pass, the losses on the 'other' sides are being acknowledged more and more, a recognition of humanity thrown against itself that perhaps time allows us to see. A mate told me of his grandfather, in the Great War, jumping out of a bomb crater, only to be greeted by a German doing the same.

They shot each other, the German copping it in the leg, and he in the arm. Looking at each other, and seeing another human being, not an 'enemy', the less wounded Australian took the German 'prisoner', got him back behind the lines to medical attention and respite from hell.

They remained in touch for the next 40 years.

Naturally, a holiday weekend means a chance for a splash, and while it could have been great, wind and swell direction meant it either missed, or wobbled, or wasn't as good as it could have been. I did though allow myself a trip down yesterday, and scored a very fun surf at Winkipop. Crowded, and inconsistent, somehow I managed, either by luck or rat cunning, to get a few really fun waves, sitting in the sun, saying thanks in my own way to the vets who made it possible for us to enjoy this life we live.


The pic: Even though I surfed Winki, little Bells looked a happy place too.