Sunrise, Sunset II

I didn't bother trying to stay awake for the drive from LA. In the past I'd got drunk as a monkey before check-in but this time I had reason to go straight to bed. After the usual petty grumbling about his room from the same petulant wankshaft, I got into a real bed around 3.30.

I was awakened from my fuzzy slumber at 7.15 and almost went back to bed, but soldiering on, I packed my bag and went downstairs for breakfast.

Following a quick trip to the bus to raid the beer fridge, the cooler was packed and we were on our way to Mission Beach, San Diego. Sitting on the near-deserted beach at 8.30 in jeans and a jacket, ominous clouds overhead, I was wishing I'd stayed in bed.

Not being the greatest swimmer, I let my regular off-day buddy Crabman go first. The other guy, Lobsterboy, had his own board and suit so he would act as instructor.

When I finished laughing my ass off at watching Crabman get dunked by the waves, it was my turn. lobsterboy, in broken English, gave me the very basics on paddling out, surviving breaking waves and sitting up on the board.

Then he high-fived me, said 'you are surfer now!' and fucked off.
Now, I know a lot has been written about the sea and surfing. Surfers have a certain 'you wouldn't understand, mere land-person' attitude. But there's definitely something special about it.

Once you're in there, paddling for dear life to catch up with your buddy, regularly rolling under the breakers or getting ripped from the board, the sea is a beast. It doesn't want you there, wants to dump you back on the sand. I knew standing up would be a struggle, most likely would never happen on my first day. I knew it would be tiring. I wasn't anticipating a David & Goliath-style battle of wits.

I expected the tide would be regular, like that part in Papillon where he counts the waves, times his leap and in doing so avoids the deadly rocks, instead being flumed harmlessly out to open sea and escape. This was not the case. Some waves were only feet apart, so that if you survive the first lashing, you find yourself scrambling in a trough, a bigger wave breaking right over you.

It's a weird feeling to be belly-deep in water one second, then be 15 feet from seabed the next. Or to be thrown from your board, the waves roaring over your head and the force of the wave dragging you by the ankle back towards shore. In 2 seconds you can be 30 feet closer to the beach, coughing and spluttering, stinging from the shock of the wave or maybe the board hitting you on the head as it's forced from the water.

Pretty soon we were all exhausted, and collapsed on our little spot of safety with a beer. For Lobsterboy it was simply hair of the dog, for us a hard-earned reward. As the tide died down and the waves got more crowded, Lobsterboypassed out, so Crabman and I went out together for a while, laughing at each other's misfortunes.

This time I felt different about the waves; less frightened yet more wary. Up to now I'd been fighting against the sea, and unless you're that guy with the blue penis in Watchmen, that's pretty much an unwinnable battle. Now I was treating it more like a difficult friend; employing techniques to get my way, treating it with caution and respect.

Being rushed towards the shore at an unexpected pace, I managed to stand for a brief, shining half-second before tumbling into the surf in a foot of water. Lobsterboy seemed to sense it, as he rose from his coma to witness the glorious moment.And yet, something overshadowed this shining day. As you all know, yesterday was Fathers' Day. This one was different for me, as rather than being the one who had to buy a card, I actually received a card.

But being away from Trousers Jr and Mrs Trousers was more difficult than I ever imagined it would be. It's difficult anyway, being so far away and knowing Mrs T is raising him pretty much single-handed.

But seeing young fathers on the beach with their sons, digging sandcastles and throwing balls? Yep, there was sand in my eyes yesterday. That must have been it.

Sunrise, Sunset

In a world of mid-life crises and weekend motorcyclists, my dad remains a true man of the woods. Just as the sun will rise in the early maudley, so my dad would turn up filthy at 5 oclock every night and eat his tea whilst watching Neighbours. I used to believe him when he'd come back with a bag full of fish on autumn nights, saying he'd opened the back doors of the van by the riverbank and the fish just jumped in.
I regret the fuzzy contempt I held for him when I was 19 or so (ten freakin years ago!) and working with him as a lumberjack. In my defense I was a terrible pothead- waking up at 5am to drive to Scotland and drag a steel rope up a muddy hill was never going to be easy. Tree-murder is a pretty dangerous job. Nature will bite back at any given opportunity. Despite a catalogue of injuries, he still finds time to get on the European history trail with this, his 1938 Matador, lovingly restored from scrap.
Now aged 69, he's still out there making his own living, and a couple of years back he and his lifelong friend 'Dangerous' Ken built my sister's house. And a damn fine job they did, too.

Easily as hard and as resourceful as Jason Bourne, I'd say. Obviously this is a bit of a mushy post, but I feel my dad deserves some credit, even as I continually let him down. Happy Fathers' Day, Beardface.

Postcards From a Hedge: San Francisco

Three shows down, another day off. I like this tour.

San Francisco must be one of the most popular cities with tourists. I'd google it, but, you know.

The famous cable cars are literally dripping with humanity, hanging off the side and filming their progress. It was like Delhi but with more knock-off Ed Hardy. My regular off-day buddy and I jumped on and were barked at by the guy cranking the handbrake (nice brown uniform, by the way, kamerade) to get all the way into the cart. Being over 6 feet tall and having to stand, I saw absolutely nothing as we chuntered along. Still, Ive done it once before and we didnt pay for it so suck it UPS guy.

After gorging ourselves we hit the harbour and hired bikes, though I was tempted to sack it off because of the aggressive style of the Eastern European touts.

Quick tip Malgorzata- when I'm at your desk with my wallet out, you don't need to shout in my face about your great rates. It's pretty clear Ive made my decision to pay 8 bucks an hour to ride your boneshaking deathmachine.

Nor do you need to shout when you're pointing out the route to the bridge. In fact just shut up. It's that big red thing over there in the distance. I'm pretty sure I'll find it. If not I'll just send up a flare and you can shout directions to me from where you are.

Anyway- if you're thinking of hiring a bike for the 2-hour bridge trip in San Francisco, don't be fooled- if you ride as hard as you can and don't stop to take a picture, you might make it in 2 hours. if you want to enjoy the experience at all, that shitty paperboy's bike is going to cost you at least 40 bucks.

Suffice to say I spent 24, I barely had time to touch the ocean, we didnt quite make it to the centre of the bridge before turning back because fuck taking the ferry back over. And the pedal finally broke on the way back down the hill. I'm also pretty sure some courier said 'go home' to me as he passed on his way to racquetball practice. Asshat.

Moaning aside, we did have a lovely wander around the Roman replica Exploratorium (or did I hear that name in an episode of South Park?) I'm pretty sure the Doors were photographed there at some point.

I'd also say that San Francisco is a beautiful city from afar- it doesn't look like an American city. Reminded me more of Marseille.

Suitably thirsty from our ride *forced march* we headed for a bar with the idea of stopping for one or two. Alas we chose a bar with 68 beers on tap and closed it about eight hours later. There was a brief respite when we went to the harbour and got crabs. That's what she said, barump-tiss!

Yep, live on the scales, cruelly boiled to death a few seconds later. I think it's the agony they go through that makes them so delicious. We also ate 16 oysters and a carton of calimari. If you're on the harbour, skip the pricey restaurants and buy off the street. I only shat liquid for the next day and a half.

To be fair that was very likely more to do with the samplers of beer. I tried at least 8 before we settled on Downtown Brown. There's a Hugh Grant joke here somewhere, surely? As bars go, Jack's is great, but I was surprised there were so many English in there. True to form they ignored the 66 other choices, settling instead on Bud or Strongbow. Everyone was very friendly anyway. One cougarish woman even over-friendly. My mate is still suffering from her backrub. But she was one of the 5 people to ask if we were a couple. No idea what gave them that impression.

The cablecar ride home was blurry but, again, free. God bless ze UPS.

Postcards From a Hedge: Vancouver

I'm kind of over cities. But when we got to our hotel in Vancouver, I actually felt like I was on holiday. And for once, a holiday I'd like to go on.

After 36 hours without sleep, I'd planned to go to bed for a while, crawl out for dinner and drag myself back to my room. But as soon as I stepped off the bus at the hotel, the air and the mountain views revitalised me so I took a long walk around Stanley Park and along the harbour.

Some places I take an instant liking to, and can imagine myself bringing the family for a real holiday. This place is currently topping 'the List'. Sea planes, whale watching, bears on Grouse Point, great affordable food.

On the second day we ate our bodyweight in sushi for 10 doolars and got us some beaver. Or at least, we went to Beaver Lake.

So yeah, if you haven't been, go. Just don't be surprised when you don't want to leave.

Bonus Material
Vancouver's versatility (and lower costs of course) mean a lot of TV shows and movies are filmed there. The front of the hotel was turned into a casino for Pierce Brosnan's latest vehicle Percy Jackson. Let's just hope he doesn't sing, eh?

Mailed In

Fear not, dear reader, I haven't fallen victim to the current trend of ditching blogging in favour of loser stuff like getting a job that doesn't make you want to bang your head repeatedly against drywall.

I am slightly busier than normal but the main reason is, I'm on the west coast of the USA and it's hot as balls. Being English, I get my shirt off pretty much as soon as the hail stops.

So I've been outside a lot.

I have a nice camera and I figure it's time to start putting it to use on here, so I'm starting a regular post. Since I'm on tour at the moment, it's going to be travel themed.

I'm off to think up a witty title. Could take a while.