Making Friends With The Neighbours

People often talk about how, when they go surfing, their troubles drift away or at the very least, they don't think about them. Or that they see it as time out from the stresses of their life. I've never really felt like that. I don't know how they disengage like that! I was thinking about these things this morning as I surfed. I was having a great time in the water. There were little waves breaking down on the inside that were fat but they broke long and clean, and every so often there was an awesome double-up that came through. I was having a ball and I got a lot of waves. Like, a lot . The water was clear as possible, the sun was out and there were only a couple of other people anywhere in the vicinity. Seriously, it was so great. But my brain kept thinking about things on the shore, on the land, awaiting me at home. A large part of me wanted to stay out the whole day in this watery playground, but my brain kept dwelling on the responsibilities I have and the things ...

After a solid summer of surfing for hours every day, I am a marked woman. My body is marked with lines burned onto my skin by the sun. I wear these marks with a mix of pleasure and concern – as all Australians know, there's nothing healthy about a tan . I know that being so much in the sun is a huge risk to my long term health, as well as any aspirations to long term vanity I might have held. Cancers, wrinkles, freckles, sun-spots, lost elasticity are all a payment for surfing. With luck I'll pay the price with everything but the first. And so my body betrays my indulgent summer. A summer spent paddling, sitting, laughing, turning, trimming, nose-diving, bobbing about on the surface, even catching some waves. A summer spent with old friends and new in the sea. A summer spent, morning and evening, almost exclusively at one break. A summer, indeed, of love.  And all of this is marked out in tones on my body. My legs, more than any other part of my body, are browned ...