Chariman of the Board

Today I surfed. Well, today I stood on a board. Well, to be honest, today I fell off a board a lot. My ribs feel that they've been whaled on by an angry dwarf and I have contracted 'The Rash', an apparently common blight of every grommet who's dry behind the ears. I'm in a bad shape indeed.

The day started off early as I shanks ponied my way into Central Sydney. Our driver, Marty, pulled up looking every inch the gnarled, blonde-highlighted space cadet surfer dude you'd expect. With the exception he was limping from a bad back. A shaky start indeed.

Our trip to the beach an hour's drive from Sydney involved one wrong turn and 50 minutes of neo-60s surfer rock complete with Shed Seven spangly guitars. When we got there we started off on the beach learning how to stand up. Crikey, this is a doddle: I've been doing this for the past 26.5 years. Unfortunately for me, and my ego, that was as far as my surfing ability could ride.

I spent the next 6 hours falling off the board, tumbling under 1 foot waves, doing a Zinedine Zidane to a girl (it was an accident of course) and clonking myself in the head with my own board. Marty tried to show me the correct surfer stance during lunch, which meant adopting a sort of by-jong and bouncing up and down. I was happy for the advice, but felt like a tit. Don't think Marty felt the same. I mean, he was singing along to 'Hip to Be Square' at one point. You gotta love that.

The day ended far too quickly and when we made our merry way home I had a chance to talk to Marty about his life. The guy is relaxed and fun-loving when you meet him, but he's also part of the notorious 'Bra Boys' of Marouba - a 2,000-strong surfer gang. Membership includes living in Aruba, being a good surfer and willing to kick the s*** out of anyone at a moment's notice.

Damn good job I didn't make fun of the name, otherwise 'The Rash' would be the least of my worries.

Tony is just finishing off the sand he has accumulated in his teeth over the course of the day.