Christmas came and went. Ditto New Year. Ditto Twelfth Night. Ditto Saint Hilary's Feast! And what did I do? Cough, mostly. And lounge around the house, enjoying mod. cons. like walls and hot water. But there's only so much coughing and lounging you can do before insanity beckons. Or in this case, North Norfolk.
"North Norfolk?" you cry. "Didn't you do that before Christmas?"
Well, yes, but some misplaced sense of obligation convinced me that I hadn't done it very thoroughly. Sitting in Cromer in the snow for three days doesn't count as thoroughly.
So I drove up to East Runton last night, and surfed it this morning:
Considering I've been idling around eating Christmas cake for four weeks, it was quite a good session. Chest high, peeling nicely, and a few reasonably long rides. Not very powerful, but this is Norfolk, so you don't really expect power. If only it wasn't so cold! There wasn't a breath of wind, but even so, every time you hit the water, it's a real slap in the face.
But it was very nice to be back in a van and back on a board.