Cruising for crumbs
Get a vague idea of the wind and get in the car. I mean, really, feck it. Toss your tools in the back and let's get going. There's always some little corner that is all turned on by itself and it's working cause it's felt the tickle of a swell. Get out there and get yer giggle on. Oh yeah, this is serious shit for the frothers but speaking for myself, the big whoops that wriggle out of this sack of skin come from curves whipped out on either half-foot-wind-chop or those draining, head-high caverns of almost-certain hospitalisation.
It's a bit ridiculous over here in the west of Ireland. You're spoilt for choice. Such a ragged coastline with oodles of opportunity. This morning we headed West to see what we could find. It's probably not going to be epic and though it'll stay offshore all day under the duvet, we're out there bouncing across the coastline, bleary eyed and clueless; let's find that empty corner and get sliding.
Yeah, we got waves. But now it doesn't take too much to get me stoked. Lefts, two-to-three foot, bugger-all wind, not really lined up but the odd runner winding through. With a little paddling about we also found a few boils to haunt that could add a little more suck to the sets. Lower your standards and close-out tubes are still tubes. Actually, forget the standards you had be just enjoy being out there - wet, shivering and stoked.
I thaw out at home with a big pot of coffee, stinky cheese and black bread, watching the caravan park grass fit about in furious giggles from the relentless tormenting fingers of the now well whipped-up, stiff onshore breeze. My eyeballs are scratchy with salt and I find I've an itchy sketchbook. Ben Bulben is and then is not and then is again behind squalls of rain with torn fists of low cloud beating hard on it's furrowed brow.
Sometimes you might want cake but it's unlikely that it's going to happen - for a number of reasons. I'll admit that I do like cake. Big chunky, hunks of cake and I'm more than prepared to make myself sick on it. Maybe I like cake too much?
Crumbs from cake still taste like cake though. These days I'm not sure if it's greed that I'm gleeful for crumbs if that's all there is. I guess after living the past four years with the nearest cake-shop nearly an hour away, these days I'm happy for whatever is going.
I thaw out at home with a big pot of coffee, stinky cheese and black bread, watching the caravan park grass fit about in furious giggles from the relentless tormenting fingers of the now well whipped-up, stiff onshore breeze. My eyeballs are scratchy with salt and I find I've an itchy sketchbook. Ben Bulben is and then is not and then is again behind squalls of rain with torn fists of low cloud beating hard on it's furrowed brow.
Sometimes you might want cake but it's unlikely that it's going to happen - for a number of reasons. I'll admit that I do like cake. Big chunky, hunks of cake and I'm more than prepared to make myself sick on it. Maybe I like cake too much?
Crumbs from cake still taste like cake though. These days I'm not sure if it's greed that I'm gleeful for crumbs if that's all there is. I guess after living the past four years with the nearest cake-shop nearly an hour away, these days I'm happy for whatever is going.