the table of mothers
Wakeful nights are many for Mad Tim, as he plots his unending calculus of weights and distances and horses names and jockeys’ colours.
Apr 21
Wakeful nights are many for Mad Tim, as he plots his unending calculus of weights and distances and horses names and jockeys’ colours.
Apr 18
A dispassionate look at the friends we have to surf with. Herewith a list of malcontents from Mona vale.
Nat had a funny way of introducing himself to you when he dropped in - sometimes he would slice around into a full-blooded cutback and say hullo to your head with his elbow.
Bony little demons all firey-eyed in the dark as they rip away their clothes and dress in black, to vanish into the cauldrons. Cackling at their good fortune.
the last wave before dinner
Women though do belong in the surf, and they belong all around it. This can used to our advantage.
It's ok to be gay - that's what the Shaka could be.
Those not familiar with the sacred surfing hours might find the information below helpful.
The women never change. Only the long-boarders grow old.
Noisy rips them down one by one, stares at them the way a man stares at a ransom note - and he immediately starts shouting at the nearest three people.
Join us in a Luke Mangan kitchen as we do lunch.
This is what you were Mercho, and you have to ask yourself - where did that guy go?
A surfer is able to maintain a mystic stoicism that even the most beautiful women are unable to penetrate. Waimea does that to you, or Malibu.
Mar 1
Nobody else can catch him. They're just milling around out there getting closed out and whumped as he streaks out of the pack again.
This ocean sport has no rules and no joining fees - it's open slather out there and egos play with whales.