Everyone knows exactly where to find you on a morning when the surf is pumping.
Don't get me wrong - this is often a real plus. They know they can get sorted if they need a block of wax, a leash or perhaps even a new wetsuit.
Unfortunately, there often comes with it a darker, more malicious reason.
They also seem to feel the need to tell me how good it is out there. They want to see me squirm, knowing (and they do know, however innocent they may act) that I have at least 7 hours to go before I can get near the roaring Atlantic with a board. And as any surfer in Cornwall is aware, 7 hours is a long, long time. Ample for conditions to turn on their head. I've had a bumper crop of wet haired friends in this morning. There must be an equation that some brainbox could figure - that the amount of surfing friends, fresh out of the water, who feel the need to wander in the shop and tell me what I'm missing is directly proportionate to the quality of the surf. The better the peaks, the more who get the urge to 'just drop by' afterward.
Here's a few I had in within an hour of opening:
Will - "...it wasn't that great."
The Scarecrow - "Oh, working today are you?"
Even our very own (judas) Tom dropped by, wearing nought but his Bobby Dazzler 3mm Gul Recore and a smile. And the wet patch on the floor? Well kids, let's just hope it's seawater. C
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