Don’t know if anyone else has noticed, but it’s been pretty chilly these last few weeks here in Blighty. Naturally, as a nation we’ve over-reacted – the ‘big freeze’ that has brought Britain to a standstill would probably be considered warm by Siberian standards, but even so, for us poor Brits it’s been as cold as we’d ever want it.
I remember my first real wipe out. I’d not long mastered the vertical and was eager to start crossing the face of a wave on my newly purchase nine footer. I’d worked my way through the wash and was sitting proud – albeit a little unsteadily – at the end of the line-up, on a not-so-spectacular day.
It was a glorious dawn: the sun rising from behind the Pyrenees, a sky so blue sapphires hid themselves in shame, the air hot and clean and heady with alpine aromas. (Photo by Iona Calvert.)
Matt Stradling
I trained as an actor but was considered over excitable, so turned to teaching. I write fiction, drama and the occasional letter of apology and have been known to stand on a surf board for longer than thirty seconds. I live and work on the Yorkshire coast - God's own county.
Or the reality of life as a piss poor paddler…
