andygates

Work/Life win: "Boss, can I have a half-day leave? The surf is epic and I won't get there before dark unless I leave at lunchtime."

Got to Croyde and the sets are marching slowly in, wide-spaced and stately. The big stuff is overhead; the little stuff is keeping the half-term kids in a happy foamy place. The wind's light and offshore, it's warm, there's broken low cloud: it's a perfect Autumn day.

There's a tradition chez munky of getting a good first ride then fighting for ages; in this case after a Zenly foamy run, my bad feet cramped up super-fast and I left the kids and the handful of gnarly dudes to play: the gnarlies were way out, where the waves were maxing out around eight feet, getting up, getting down and getting utterly obliterated.

While I was in, the sun came down and did that low metallic Highway to Heaven thing; the clouds were fringed with silver, the spray blowing off the tops of these huge waves curling and gleaming in the light. I half expected Michael Landon to paddle past, or Harry Secombe in the lifeguard's ute. As it was, of course, it made me think of Nick. If there is a good place to go after you die, well, I hope his was a bit like that.