Separation.

I managed to get a surf in this week. Technically I got in the water twice but trust me, the first one does not count. The second was bracing but mellow. Small, pretty clean with the occasional close-out set. I wouldn’t say that I was good. But I wasn’t terrible and that is more than good enough for me when you are catching up with amigos, and the sun is warm enough to jump off your board and stretch out in the water in the lulls.

This slice of paradise elevated my already giddy mood that day. On the 27th of March 2012 my brother and his fiancee welcomed into the World a beautiful baby boy previously known as ‘bump’ now known as my living breathing nephew. Yes. the bump has landed. And damn that kid is definitely one of us: Hairy lil bugger. I hope my brother doesn’t mind me saying. Seeing as I’ll add that he is going to be a fantastic father! I am itching to get back to see him.

After one visit to my nephew I had to head straight off to Wales and started work the next morning. So it was with a smile on my face that I made my way to Cardiff to be welcomed into not only a sweet job but into the company of damn fine, funny and most certainly dynamic – well.. maybe not always dynamic – people.

Getting out of Cardiff tomorrow on a (probably futile) search for a wave down South Wales… this was spurred on by a memorable chat at home ‘on the wall’ with the boys, drinking cider and watching the sunset. Consider my bug re-lighted from that nice little splash earlier in the week, not to mention the boys gently hassling me (thank you!) Wish me luck!

One problem in my otherwise rather peachy life is that my computer gave up in an epic way. So shooting beginning at work, social life tugging the other way and I am bidding a quiet adieu to that there virtual World. How much is that a bad thing anyway: to step out of the virtual world a little.. Obviously not totally because then you can’t watch the new season of South Park.. Let’s put it this way: I have started to refer to social networking sites as The Modern Man’s Handshake: Because you aren’t friends until you’re *enter name of latest social site here*-friends.

So farewell for now dear reader. And hey, look: Cardiff’s got waves too..

Big Fish. Little Fish. Cardboard Box.

I love Cardiff.

It’s beautiful. The people are fantastically kind and friendly. It’s sort of like Cornwall but bigger so it’s no wonder that I feel at home here.

Something peculiar happened to me over the weekend of the 3rd March. No, not getting massively spangled as you all know, that is a fairly normal thing for me. What happened is that I went to Cardiff to see a friend and found that I didn’t really want to go back to London. I felt at home. Hanging out with people that reminded me of my friends, who made me feel comfortable as well as being the type of people able to have a deep and meaningful conversation about hover-boards or the human centipede or… well you get the jist.

I ended up missing my train back on Sunday at 4.30pm due to the fact that I was still asleep at that time. Stayed until Wednesday. Got a phone call on Thursday from the Merlin production office asking if I could work for them the following week. Went home to Kernow. Unpacked. Re-packed. And here I am.

Had an amazing week on Merlin in an epic location. Working with some fantastic people. The crew are mostly Welsh, they keep telling me they aren’t surprise that London and I didn’t meld very well: ‘you’re too Cornish’ they tell me and I guess I am. They have given me lists of places to go surfing and told me when is the best tide and condition for each break. They have invited me to their locals for a pint and passed me a lot of useful contacts. You do not get that working in the film and TV industry in London. In London they would cut off their own arm before giving you one of their contacts.

On the down side I did have the unfortunate misfortune if you will (it is THAT bad) of seeing a supporting actor (and not an attractive SA, a ‘trampy’ (his words) looking SA) butt-ass naked, full frontal. Far too close. Dear Ivor.

But moving swiflty on…

What does the weekend hold for me? Well today I am going to watch the Wales vs. France match.
Tomorrow I plan to go wave-hunting if I am not too hungover. If the latter, lie around watching bad TV and occasionally napping. Couldn’t imagine a better plan.

Office Work.

I worked in an office today in the first time in… ever, actually. As you may imagine the office environment and I do not exactly go hand in hand and I was relieved that a lot of my duties included running out into London to find and fetch things. It also improved my geographical understanding of London. I have come to the conclusion that it is really huge but really small all at the same time.

I could bore you with details of how I learnt to compress and edit videos (an invaluable lesson) but I know what the real achievements of today were.

Making a delightful song of the phonetic alphabet with my Scottish friend Alan.
Rolling around as much as possible on spinny chairs.
Fashioning a mustache from a wire tire.
Exclaiming ‘Och-ay!’ as often as possible.
Fashioning afore-mentioned wire into a haunting depiction of the Lochness Monster (see below)

Some say I have too much energy for the an office job. It gets to the point that it is pure hyperactivity…
Needless to say it was a fun day at the office for all. As Alan said: ‘It’s been different.’

Tnank you and good night.

A Splash of Sun.

       

I admit that it is something of a cliche that I sat in a park reading a novel whilst primarily young couples and students frolicked in the grass and spun about on bikes, cameras at the ready to capture that inexplicably serene moment lazing about in the sun. Not that the moment itself is ever truly serene. It is generally posed, or uncomfortable. I am forever fidgeting, swapping to a different limb to lean upon. But I am a fidget.

I realised only as I walked down past the river that I have actually been here before. I am not sure why I hadn’t already geographically realised this. Physically it looked altogether different, perhaps the sunshine gave Greenwich a splash of colour that I didn’t recognise from 4/5 years ago. Perhaps because it was that long ago and for whatever reason I cannot presume to guess, my memories often evade me… Maybe the scenery of Greenwich was overpowered by my strongest of that weekend: missing the last train, having to wait for a taxi (we had to wait for ages because I looked like I was going to spew at any moment) and thinking it was really funny to spin around on a bike post like it was a trapeze. I was in the doghouse that night, but in my defense on route to a party in London is not the ideal time to tell your young girlfriend that you are moving to Korea.
I am glad to greet Greenwich on my own terms this time around. I cannot however promise that I won’t use various public structures as trapeze/climbing equipment.

After these memories washed over me and I settled back into my book, head rested on my arm that ached with pins and needles, it was a beautiful day for fidgeting in the sun.

Ego.

Yesterday must have been the nicest day of the year so far and today can’t be far behind. In London at least. I must admit that I don’t even know how the weather fares in the fair Crack.

Unfortunately on such a nice day as yesterday I was stuck inside filming a promo for the new store of some big brand that opens soon or something. Filled with spangly technology and the such.

People in my line of work like to take the piss. So sometimes I get a bit of stick for being from Cornwall. For instance people saying I must be a farmer..(?) and inbred is a classic one. It probably only exasperates the situation that I am staunchly proud and defensive of my Home. I am yet to admit to myself or anyone else that I have actually moved to London because it seems so blasphemous, and besides in my heart I am in Cornwall.

I met three people yesterday who have been to Cracky:
One was the Director of Photography who I had thought I recognised. I did. He stays in Cracky every year in Bill Braggs field and I have served him a fair few pints.
The other was the producer who visited Cracky as a child.
The third was a student at Falmouth University and had visited a few times in the summer.

Meeting people who are visitors to my home town always creates a familiar if not uneasy feeling within. I was talking to the ex-student (lets call him Clark) about being from Cornwall when another chap lets call him Larry joined in the conversation. Now Larry I have worked with before. Larry is a very tactile creature. He talks a lot. He talks about money. He feels that he can relate to me because his parents have a second holiday home in Polzeath reportedly worth 2 mil. Larry is wrong.
Larry enjoyed spending half of the day telling me about ‘the Cornish’. He also (later on in the day) told me that if he were to take me out for a drink he could definitely get in my pants so you can imagine what level of credulity I award Larry’s opinion.
A topic that ironically kept coming up in Larry’s jaunty… presentation… Was surfers and their ego:

This monologue of Larrys reminded me of a conversation thrown about the room by a group of friends who had gathered to watch surf movies a couple weeks ago. The basis of this conversation was questioning the difference between surfing as an athletic pursuit and a somewhat more artistic pursuit. Devils advocate was played, opinions expressed and rejoiced. I did not allow myself much input to the conversation at the time.

But I have been thinking about it.

If Larry brought me to any conclusion on this topic it is this: It is all about ego, isn’t it? I don’t particularly care why or how I surf or you surf or anyone surfs (as long as it doesn’t put anyone else in danger) but if you do it with a notion of superiority you are always going to come out of it looking like a prick. There is a difference between the surfer who comes back from traveling and can’t stop talking about the culture and the quality of the wave and the surfer who comes back talking about the pro company and the quality of his/her surfing (trust me I have heard this person go on and on and not be able to get their freaking head out of the pub door to go for a piss cause it has grown so damn huge in the space of time that it has taken them to drink a pint.) Athletic or soulful or artistic it is all relative to the EGO.

On a lighter note these films are really worth a watch. Firstly Malloy’s ‘Come Hell or High Water, The Plight of the Torpedo People’. The cinematography of this piece alone will blow your mind. Beautifully shot and really uses the natural light to create a dazzling piece of film.

For the title of the second film I will have to refer you to the host of this cosy evening - Rich. I remember it as A high-powered, fast moving movie based in Scarborough (please correct me if I am wrong Rich) with a community feel at it’s centre. I apologise profusely for not avidly taking notes.

**I can now inform you dearest reader that the film was Ollie Banks’ ’900 miles’.**

Here’s to many more evenings of the same caliber!

Crocodile Dundee

I met a friend for coffee this afternoon. He asked me how I was finding London. ‘Like crocodile dundee.’ Was my answer. Classic fish out of water. It isn’t that I find the city scary or intimidating. It is simply that the city and I do not understand each other.

On Saturday I bought a duffel coat that will forever be referred to as my ‘city coat’. Fed up of wearing my ‘regular’ jacket and having to disrobe every time I even pass a shop because I am blasted with air con. Even at work people ask me if I am a snowboarder. There I was thinking that having a warm, water-proof jacket was just common sense.

I do not belong here. That much is evident. But it is exciting in it’s own way: I am surrounded by the warmth of my housemate, the encouragement from my family and the unfailing Cornish spirit which leads me to believe that things will come good.

It can only be a matter of time until Sting resists barging into my head with a rendition of ‘Englishman in New York’ replaced with Cornish maid in London.

I console myself with the thought that the surf is crap anyway. If it is in fact pumping please refrain from telling me so.

An Ode. of sorts

I did not care for you,
not many moons ago.
Slimy and stodgy,
‘No thanks bro’.

Just a taste is all it took,
You win my heart.
My head.
Every nook.

You sustain me through long hours and cold nights.
Holding my insides oh so tight.

Oh I need you.
I simply gots to have you.

My hair is still (barely) golden.
And you are just right.