Tales of surf and sky
I expected to return from beautiful St Ives culturally fed, able to write about the exciting exhibitions at The Tate, the tactile experience of visiting The Hepworth Gardens and ceramic inspiration found at The Leach Museum.
But instead I return to this space lightly freckled, finding sand in the strangest of places, feeling renewed and windswept and full of my new found love of body boarding.
So we went to St Ives and we hit the waves, day after day.
It was amazing, exhilarating, addictive. Who knew it was legal to have that much fun!
I did not mind swallowing mouthful after mouthful of salty sea-water because that next wave, the one just coming now, building and gathering, a looming swell, ready to break. It might be a good one, I might catch it just right, I might skate across the top of the water, washed all the way to shore, a smile splitting my face.
Dylan quickly became the expert amongst us.
My brave and fearless boy. He was the one racing down to the beach first thing in the morning, before the amatueurs arrived to cramp his style. Honing his skills, learning to twist and turn.
I really didn't think that late October would find my non-water loving self happily walking into a British sea but the magic of a full wetsuit and the rush of adrenalin have me longing to do it all over again.
I expected to return from beautiful St Ives culturally fed, able to write about the exciting exhibitions at The Tate, the tactile experience of visiting The Hepworth Gardens and ceramic inspiration found at The Leach Museum.
But instead I return to this space lightly freckled, finding sand in the strangest of places, feeling renewed and windswept and full of my new found love of body boarding.
So we went to St Ives and we hit the waves, day after day.
It was amazing, exhilarating, addictive. Who knew it was legal to have that much fun!
I did not mind swallowing mouthful after mouthful of salty sea-water because that next wave, the one just coming now, building and gathering, a looming swell, ready to break. It might be a good one, I might catch it just right, I might skate across the top of the water, washed all the way to shore, a smile splitting my face.
Dylan quickly became the expert amongst us.
My brave and fearless boy. He was the one racing down to the beach first thing in the morning, before the amatueurs arrived to cramp his style. Honing his skills, learning to twist and turn.
I really didn't think that late October would find my non-water loving self happily walking into a British sea but the magic of a full wetsuit and the rush of adrenalin have me longing to do it all over again.
Comments