A Searing Saharan Morning

Session      

Sunday 10 January 2010      

Location      

Curlies Cafe      

INS      

Abbidge, Unwin      

Wave height      

0.3 ft      

Wind direction      

None      

Crowd      

Nil     

Rabbometre      

0 stars      

Water temp      

Unknown      

Incidents      

Toohers conversion to cycling

Other      

Abbidge ‘forgotten wallet’

 A searing Saharan morning. Zephers whispering across the still ocean. Otherwise not a breath nor a motion to be had nyet seen. So still was the day that not only could tinnies be seen dotting the horizon, but the drone of their motors effortlessly carried from the far off horizon to the shores of Lake Curl Curl. These vessels, let alone larger ocean going craft would normally remain unseen in the rise and fall of the swell with their drone blown off by the prevailing breeze. Lund could be made out, 5 km’s offshore, burnt, bored, and sozzled. All the elements of a good fishing trip, including no fish.

As Abbidge and Unwin were about to turn on heel and head for the cafeteria (a well worn practice of late), Toohers arrived decked out in Santa’s finery. A new bike….none the less. The muted polished carbon graffite Italian frame with pencil thin tyres nestled between his legs which Abbidge noted was sheathed in nylon glory inclusive of padded mercan. Testing times indeed bestowed from above. Query abounded. Will Toohers stay the course, or is he now lost to other pursuits. Abbidge pointed out that he was only able to abide one true love at a time. The sea waits patiently for him, whilst Madam Allen awaits at home. Toohers avowed that he could accommodate many loves and would one day return to Curlies shores. It was at that moment we spotted a hiker, backpack carried as only a backpack should….burdensome. And two carbon graffite walking poles planted one after the other as though ploughing across a snowfield. Toohers cheered to the hikers amusement, mistakenly believing this figure to be our representive at the coming Winter Olympics. Secretly we wondered if the muted polished sticks were yet another siren call to the wanderings of Master Toohers.

So it was yet another Curlies, with Abbidge ‘forgetting his wallet’ as the refreshments were served.