Despite the fact that the Phantom can only execute a doggy paddle that would embarass a baby Pekinese, he has discovered something he can do better than his wife. (Yup, the qualified swimming instructor).
She is qualified to teach in the U.K. of course, and despite the large number of "fun" poools with all sorts of flumes and slides, surfing is not big in your average municipal pool.
I had seen her eyeing the body boards for the last few days. She bought one, and we strode, (or in my case manfully crept, sideways), into the sea. Breakers erupting to head height all around.*
She jumped on, head-butted the polystyrene board, and fell off.
This happened again. Twice.
Being male, I genetically knew what needed to be done.
"You need to leap on the crest of the wave, just as it breaks.... Keep the nose down, you need a shallow angle of attack."
After I had emptied my ears and eyes from the torrent of warm, salty water she had expertly sent in my direction, I realised what I had done. Like a London Gangster in the East End opening a Kray-free nightclub I had committed the ultimate sin. I was moving-in on my wife's Territory.
I would Have To Pay...
The next wave was looking vaguely like a tower block as it insinuated its way towards us. I prepared my self, said a prayer, waited until just the moment....
Leapt onto the board.
And coasted, literally riding along on the crest of the wave, right on to the beach.
Best of all:
- My wife was watching
- And I kept my hat and sunglasses on throughout.
Colonel Kilgore surfing off the beach under rocket fire in Apocalypse Now wasn't in it.
I swear I could hear Wagner...
* (I may be exaggerating. Maybe)
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