The only snag was when we got to that whole ‘standing up’ thing they seem to insist that all surfers be able to do. I just couldn’t do it. I could push my torso up. I could even get up onto one knee. But at the last, crucial ‘Blue Crush’ moment, I always ended up with a mouthful of Newquay seawater. All around me, my fellow students – who I’d (smugly) sailed past so many times as I caught wave after wave while they struggled – flew past me. Sure, none of them looked like they were quite ready to star in their own early-noughties sports movies either, but at least they were out of the water.… Read More That time I sat on a man’s head while surfing
So with that in mind, I chucked my little bird book in my bag this time. I’ve had it since I was a little eight-year-old birdwatcher (I feel like, given the rest of this post, that shouldn’t be a particularly surprising revelation). One side of it is stained with blood from where I cut my knee while running up the garden path, because they teach you about scissors as a kid, but they never teach you the dangers of being a baby geek.… Read More I’ve hit Peak Countryfile and it’s lovely
I once accidentally ended up in the middle of a huge surf lifesaving competition on the North Coast – children everywhere were just voluntarily wearing numbers and doing running as a fun Saturday afternoon activity. It was very alien to me. I mean, I will occasionally wear a number and do a bit of running if necessary but that is one hundred per cent for bragging rights and a reason to eat giant burgers under the guise of ‘refuelling’. It has nothing to do with enjoyment. And if you had suggested it to me when I was under the age of twenty four I would probably have wept.… Read More The kids in Cornwall are super-sporty and it’s terrifying
Have you ever seen a Christmas tree go up in flames? If not, I highly recommend it. In many ways it’s similar to the time at university when I accidentally leaned into a candle, in that there’s a bright flash of fire and a really loud fizzing sound. Of course, with the Christmas tree the… Read More Twelfth Night, or Let’s All Burn Christmas To The Ground
She blew down the trees,
And she carved up the beaches,
But I didn’t feel it
Because of my breeches.
Cocooning my legs
Like a black plastic shroud,
You protected my jeans
From the contents of clouds.… Read More An ode to my waterproof trousers
The Cornwall to London sleeper train is a great way to get about the country if you have to arrive up country (yes, I just said ‘up country’. I say that now.) early in the morning for reasons of business, travel, or a desire to maximise all free food opportunities available to you during a… Read More The Cornwall to London Sleeper train: A timeline (dignity not included)
when I left the shop and walked away, I bumped (almost literally) into something like fifty santas in Falmouth high street. Their costumes ranged from the detailed to the actually-I’ll-just-wear-my-red-dressing-gown-because-that’ll-do, but they pretty much all carried drums. They’d stopped to sing a few verses of a Christmas carol, but they soon started drumming and marching up the high street.
I followed them because, well, they were Santas and I have Christmas in my heart and soul forever. … Read More The Saturday Falmouth went batshit