It's sadness coming on like the old days, the vast seamless hopeless weight of sadness looking for a place to rest.

The health of our seas determines the future of humanity.

Will you look at us by the river! The whole restless mob of us on spread blankets in the dreamy briny sunshine skylarking and chiacking about for one day, one clear, clean, sweet day in a good world in the midst of our living. Yachts run before an unfelt gust with bagnecked pelicans riding above them, the city their twitching backdrop, all blocks and points of mirror light down to the water's edge.

People are fools, not monsters

Surfers travelled and opened up and changed. It became more mainstream, less of a cult. And it diversified. On any given day in the water now I'll meet three generations of surfers, male and female, everyone sporting a different craft. I started surfing in the 60s and I can tell you it's infinitely more diverse. It might be more crowded but it's also more interesting.

It’s how I fill the time when nothing’s happening. Thinking too much, flirting with melancholy.

Being afreaid proves you're alive and awake.