The Barefoot And Baffled Blog

   The cloud lifted, the rain drifted, the wind shifted.    It had been blowing from the wrong point of the compass, i.e. the north, for weeks on end, and our surf break had been blown to the shithouse. Our water faces open to the north, and when the howling raging northerlies strike up the erstwhile perfect straight lines of rolling green surf get transformed into lambchops and peasoup. Still green, but as useless as a chocolate teapot.    With the long-awaited shift in the wind we bolted and struck out onto the water, determined, deprived, depraved and deranged, with withdrawal symptoms ratcheted up to 11 out of 10. Anything would do after being so dry for so long that even the webbing between our toes was starting to crack, flake and die off, and so we got out amongst the post-northerly post-mortem to get wet.    In the post-humous wake of a northerly such swell as is present usually manifests itself as short, crumbly rides, where the lines of the walls don't hold up for

I sat down on a bench by the side of the beach and looked out across the water. The night was deep and dark and black, with a sprinkling of stars overhead. In front of me the water of the sea was moving to and fro quietly, to the tune of the moon and the tide. Behind me everything was quiet; suspiciously so. The world seemed, while asleep as usual, just a bit more inactive than normal. Was it due to the pandemic that was ravaging the world? On the way overhere the roads had been completely deserted, a real joy to drive down: night giving way before headlights, closing in again behind. Stars overhead, looking down, icecold and disinterested.    A couple of nights ago we had sat here in this same spot, three of us, partners in crime, and had stared out into the night. We had spotted a multitude of satellites revolving around us; at one point there were four of them, all of them appearing in the same part of the sky, all of them spaced the same distance apart from each other. They trav

   The moon was full, the night was black, and the surf was, if not exactly pumping, then at least moderately pleasingly accommodating. There were waves to be ridden, so we heeded the call.    Three of us, Snake Catcher, Uncle and Baboon, paddled out into the night, gently bobbing up and down on the breakers as they came our way. Rising over the top, breaking through their crests; very occasionally, on the big ones, rolling over turtle-style to let it wash over us.    We made our way up to First Rock, the rocky fingers sticking out from the rock formations behind us, where waves push up against, arc up and break into slippery slides for us to ride. The point is often referred to as Singapore. As in The Battle Of Singapore, because it is, every day without fail, hotly contested and fought over, and vicious and callous atrocities are committed in the name of Snatching A Wave on a daily basis.    We have he great fortune of having a world class wave here, at our break. A long sandy

There is something particularly beneficial about the quality of the sunlight in the very early morning, more specifically the first couple of hours of daylight. Exposure to direct sunlight, especially during those first early hours of the day, promote the production and release into the human system of a chemical called serotonin. This chemical is strongly associated with positive moods, a calm and focussed mental outlook, and a general feeling of well being. In addition it also ties into the circadian rhythm of people’s lives, allowing them to stay awake during the daytime and sleep well at night. As a result one of the key factors in treating a majority of mental health problems is regular healthy exposure to sunlight, especially during those key early hours of the morning. I have always known this deep down in my bones, felt the truth of it in my gut, for years and years before I ever heard of serotonin. And for long years it has been my habit of getting up at the crack of dawn

Danny was made of plastic, orange and white, with a large black letter W written on it, above the number 06. He lived a peaceful existence at the end of a frayed hemp rope, that had barnacles and moss growing on it. One of the barnacles, known to the wide world as Barnaby Barnacle, was his best mate. They would spend long days floating on the surface of the sea together, reminiscing about the old days, when they were both fresh and green shipmates, first year apprentices, set on a course of misfortune, which in due time saw them flounder and sink here in this shallow harbour.       'Ah yes', sighed Danny melancholically, 'those were the days. What I wouldn't give for one more bite of stale rock-hard sea biscuit.'    'There's no pleasing some people', growled Barnaby, one of nature's natural miserable arseholes, 'did I tell you about that time when I was growing peacefully down the bottom of that ship and they started keelhauling all these pe