Life continues at its frenetic pace. Is this a good thing? I am not so sure. One of my gauges of happiness is how often I get to sit down with the Times Literary Supplement, which wends its way through my letter box every Thursday. The answer, of late, is never.
I even took a load of TLSs with me to Lanzarote, to which Ryanair flew me in their own inimitable style last Wednesday. The purpose of my visit had been twofold: to interview Jose Saramago for The Times, and to pick up Josh Braddock, a hot young surfer and friend of my son Harry, who's staying with us for a taste of Cornish surf and in order to enter a comp or two. Regrettably, and to my great sadness, Saramago died about a month ago, though I did have the honour of penning his obituary for The Times (inaccessible sans subscription).
I still had to get to Lanzarote, an island I adore, to pick up Josh (who, being under 16, can't fly to the UK alone). There he was, with his Dad Tila, at the airport on Wednesday, and before we knew it we were across the island at La Santa, which Josh knew was working as well as at any time in the summer. Also there was Dennis Smith, who lent me a board for my first post-neck-surgery waves when I was last on Lanzarote. Once again, Dennis volunteered his board, and once again, despite not for a moment thinking I'd be paddling out at La Santa, there I was, in the line-up. Not on the main right-hander, you understand - there is no point pushing things with my neck as it is - but on the middle reef, which was working well and, on the sets, at some size. I had a blast, catching more waves than I've had in the last nine months put together (not difficult, given how little I've been surfing), and surviving being caught inside at one point with the neck bearing up just about OK.
Strange: each time I turn up in Lanzarote, there's Dennis, with a board. And Tila, Michelle, Heidi - all of them are great. Good things happen there.
If only things had gone so well last night at a fog-bound Spot G. Harry and Josh having been knocked out of the British Junior Championships at Fistral (Josh in the quarters, Harry earlier - but he's not surfing enough to do well in comps at the mo...), they were itching for a surf on home territory, to which I returned (with Josh) on Friday. Spot G was invisible until we reached the beach, and even then, although it was clear there was surf, it was impossible to tell if anyone was riding it. We paddled out into the unknown to find a modest crowd (no more than about eight surfers) and some shifting but fast peaks in the head high range. Harry and Josh loved it but woe was me. I locked into a bad mental zone, one of no lifeguards, fog and something happening to my neck, and had a parlous surf. Where was Dennis and his magic board when I needed them? No at Spot G, in the fog and the gloom.
But despite returning to land wondering afresh whether to give up surfing - for when I have sessions like this, sessions of zero confidence and fear about the neck - there was an upside. I executed a textbook nose dive on one fast take-off. Not usually something to be proud of, I agree, and I can't say I've done too many in recent years. But this one felt good. Why? Because I came up from it with my neck intact. Maybe that titanium cage is well and truly set, maybe I can leave the worry behind. Hmmm...
Image of some serious Lanza surf courtesy of Centre Point Surf Lanzarote.
Ironically, just as you are returning to full-time employ, I'm planning to leave it (again). Hopefully this will free up more time for surfing for me at last! The TLS doesn't make it to these distant shores and I'm certainly not paying to read the Times online...
Take care of that neck.
Posted by: Richard | July 25, 2010 at 11:27 PM
Ah the nose dive.... the oceans great leveler. you should have gone down the way a bit to a perfect left and a speedy right. Still waitin to be in at the same time, maybe soon say about Sept when its safe to go back in the water during daylight hours x
Posted by: allie | July 26, 2010 at 02:17 PM