Cabin Fever

Ahoy hoy.

I’m talking nonsense, so you just know it’s time for another blog!

Our latest tale of madness and mischief is born of a recent surf trip to the beautiful west of England. As you’ve seen before, me and my friends do love a good adventure. Unfortunately a good surfing trip is something that only happens when the heavens are open. at least that’s when we seem to go.

So when me and Steve planned a little surf getaway it was inevitable that Steve would be the bearer of bad news and inform me of the rain. It was also inevitable that I would misplace that vital information somewhere up in my brain space.

We packed our bags and brought some food, and with one of us prepared for everything England could throw, we hopped in the van and drove into the sunset. At 11 in the morning. In the rain.

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The journey was longer than my bottom hairs, darker than them too, and it was getting difficult to fight away the sense of impending doom. But with a tub of Pringles in the dashboard we soldiered on.

We arrived in Devon to beautiful sights and all the rain Steve had come to expect. After driving around the wrong campsite for a while we decided it would be an idea to go set up camp in the correct campsite.

Once there Steve set to work turning the front seats around thus creating our accommodation, and I got to work informing Steve that I had only packed shorts and shirts, as this was a summer holiday so waterproofs weren’t needed. As our voices fell silent, only the sound of rustling waterproofs only Steve had brought could break the tension.

Steve tried to argue that he had informed me of the bad weather, but I argued once more that it was summer so waterproofs weren’t needed, and anything shy of actually packing my bags for me counted as poor preparation from Steve.

Bad Steve.

Being a pragmatic pair we decided it best to hold up in the van until the rain eased off, Only leaving the van for essential travel such as a trip to the pub for food. Because who wants to eat the cheap food you brought with you when you can eat expensive pub food and soak one of the two outfits Tony had brought for this three day trip.

Still with our belly’s full and half of my clothes out of action for the week, it was time to sit in our boxers playing cards in the back of a small van like all straight men do.

Unfortunately we came to realise that waiting for the rain to hold off would take a little longer than we thought, and any plans of going out for evening adventures turned into Sitting in the van playing cards so Tony didn’t catch hypothermia, or worse, a sniffle.

Day two was just as moist, but we did get something of a surf in. The waves were pretty sweet, but the sea was quite full. Time and again the difficult decision had to be made to abandon the wave you just caught or take someones head off as you coast along the surface of the sea. In the end we did a bit of both.

Mildly moist and exhausted from a day of mildly moist and exhausting surf, we thought it best to buy some fish and chips, then sit in the back of the van playing cards in our underpants again. Look, it’s a perfectly normal thing to do and frankly I’m getting bored of justifying it to you.

After another damp night, we had reached the day we were destined to return home. It hadn’t been a bad trip, but we would have liked to have done a bit more exploring, and would have loved a slightly summer-ey-er surf. In a last ditch attempt to end on a high, we made haste to Saunton Sands for one last surf.

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To our amazement as we put on our cold and icy wetsuits, the sun broke through the clouds. It was as if one of the various gods people like had seen us two guys sitting around in our pants together and been all like “you two are doing it right, you deserve a treat”.

With the sun on our sides and our youth in our hearts, we charged at the sea. It was one of the best days of surfing I’ve ever had, each wave better than the last. The skies kept turning grey, the rain kept falling, but the waves just wouldn’t stop. It was as close to perfect as you’d want.

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Around mid day it was time to leave, and as we got out of the water the sun once again burst through the seems of the moody cloud covered sky. Anyone who has ever worn a wetsuit will tell you that getting out of it and changed in the calm sun is a practically orgasmic sensation. especially when compared to changing out of them in the rain. Orgasmic I tell you.

Once we finished our orgasms, we mopped up and made our way home.

We were knackered. But that special kind of knackered where you’ve truly deserve all the catchup sleep you’ll be having over the next few weeks.

For a cheeky little video of our surfey escapades, click here.

It’s not about everything being perfect, It’s about finding people who can still sit in their pants and laugh when it all goes slightly shit.

Until our trousers dry,

Volaticus.

 

 

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