A Lament to Surfing

I love surfing. Unfortunately, over the years and (more poignantly) over the last 3 weeks, I've come to realize that surfing tends to attract a disproportionate number of, well... surfers. Strange that such an historically spiritual pursuit should be dominated by men (primarily) who's idea of soulful is Limp Bizkit's rendition of George Michaels "Faith".

Things I've learnt from hanging around with surfers:

-> Don't refer to the tent scene in Brokeback Mountain has art. This causes a primary response shutdown in the blue-blooded surfer male, involving a glazed look in their eyes not dissimilar to that seen in fluffy toys (just a lot less cuddly). I presume this is a primal heterosexual defense system aimed at preventing contamination by any form of modern sensitive thinking.

-> Always have up to date weather information on hand to bandy about. This will put any skittish man-herd at ease, in much the same way that having a working knowledge of Tri-Nation's Rugby will (I tend to fail to dismally in the latter and I'm justifiably and swiftly dispatched to the "kinda gay" pile)

-> Don't live in Australia. I strongly suspect its full of them.

Surfing My Sweets , i think i might need a divorce....i don't think i can stand your other lovers anymore....