The blank page doesn't bother me. It's the voice in my head (not always my own) that gives me the yips. It's worse when I'm not making stuff up.

Humour is God's special gift to humanity. Handy, because it turns out to be necessary.

I was in my thirties before I learnt that I too would prefer not to see what I could no longer have

Yet however comforting and peaceful beach-combing is, it ends up like the sea, as disturbing as it is reassuring. In dark moments I believe that walking on a beach at low tide is to be looking for death, or at least anticipating it. You will only find the dead, the spilled and the cast-off. Things torn free of their life or their place.

It's impossible to imagine what Australia would be like without surfing.

I don't think it's people's utterances that limit the writing. It's the activity itself. It's actually pretty hard to convey to someone who's not a surfer. The sensation is the thing. And it's tough to describe without resorting to clichés or mystical nonsense.

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