"You're from Newquay...?"

"Do you surf?" Is probably the most commonly asked question/follow-up question I'm asked. The resulting answer depends on what mood I'm in. Usually, I give the honest answers: "Yeah, but I don't surf," which is the biggest pain in the arse, as I have to explain why I don't surf. It's quite a long one. I'll leave it for now. Or I blatantly lie, "Yeah, I like to get in quite a bit." This is the easiest option, if the conversation goes any further (which it invariably doesn't) I can use my years of knowledge to blag my way out of a situation.

Now, as I type this, my arms are aching to buggery. No, I haven't just had a four hour online power wank. I've been for a surf. For the first time in years. This is what happened the last time I went for a surf:



I'm second in, for you stalkers out there

Luckily my reaction was more positive this time. And going by the claims I've been making all winter, ("I'm going to get back into it this summer,") I'm hoping I can stick to them. It'll make the conversations a lot shorter.

* * * *

It's typical that I'm writing another post on a Thursday. By scrolling down, you can see that it's Belushi's Open Mic tonight. Don't have to say anymore on that front. I meant to write last night, but Reservoir Dogs and the Chelsea/Barcelona game (ha!) were on television. In the interests of my personal health, I decided to take the night off from drinking.

Had I gone out, I would have gone to On The Rocks for their Wednesday night quid bottles and local band. I'm a big fan of paying a quid for a beer, but considering last week's act sounded like Scouting For Girls, I thought I'd give it a miss. I've yet to hear what last night's band sounded like, so in the interest of fair reportage I'll leave the focus on the cheap beer. Quids in. Back of the net!