4:17 am. Still drooling on pillow, dreaming of surfing in a hedge at Buckingham Palace.
4:20 am. Alarm goes off. Still dreaming, so think the sound is the Queen screeching at my leafy barrel.
4:21 am. Alarm has gone out the window. But the alarm is on my phone. Listen to the alarm blaring from outside while I question my life choices.
4:23 am. Retrieve phone, start making coffee while staring into empty space. Stare at the void long enough and all that existential bollocks. Phone rings. It’s your morning person surf buddy, unbelievably chipper saying the waves are pretty decent.
4:24 am. Consider getting new friends. Nobody needs morning people in their lives.
4:24:30 am. Another surf buddy phones, telling you another spot is firing.
4:25 am. Consider how easy it would be killing friends and contemplate how effective burying their bodies in the backyard would be.
4:28 am. Eat a light breakfast of muesli and fruit.
4:29 am. Decide to fry up an additional coupla eggs.
4:29:20 am. And bacon. YOLO right.
4:42 am. Finish breakfast, head to bathroom. Digestinal apocalypse ensues.
4:50 am. Kiss sleepy, grumpy significant other and/or kids and/or other random family members and/or pets goodbye.
4:51 am. Head to car, pre-packed for early surf. Niiiiice advance planning there.
4:52 am. Start car and drive off.
4:58 am. Arrive back at house to collect wetsuit, which you forgot as it was drying outside.
4:59 am. Start car again and drive off again.
5:17 am. Arrive at first spot check, just in time to witness two hobos engaged in heavy petting.
5:18 am. It’s like an accident. You just can’t look away.
5:19 am. Decide to check out another spot. The erotic atmosphere is just too intensely charged.
5:23 am. Arrive at next spot check. Looking pretty decent, only like 3 people out. You decide to start suiting up even though both the previous phone calls from your mates hinted at other spots being better.
5:24 am. Yet another mate phones. Contemplate not answering.
5:24:6 am. Answer phone. Mate reckons it’s better at another spot.
5:25 am. Consider ignoring mate’s report and paddling out here anyway.
5:27 am. On the road again, to next spot. Phone rings. It’s a spam telemarketer. Contemplate throwing phone into the ocean (Honestly?! Who the **** phones to sell life insurance at this time anyway?!) until sanity prevails and you decide instead to take revenge by performing a voodoo curse on the company when you get home.
5:32 am. Drive past another spot. Even better than the first one, although more people out. The agony of choice.
5:33 am. Phone rings again. Another mate. Decide to answer out of sheer relief it’s someone you know.
5:33: 10 am. Mate wants surf report. You give an honest version of what you’ve seen and heard. Mate thanks you while their significant other threatens divorce while screaming obscenities in the background.
5:41 am. Arrive at another spot. Tide too low, but you see potential.
5:48 am. Arrive at original mate’s destination of choice. Car park pretty busy but find a parking spot easily enough, even though there are a bunch of old ladies doing yoga right in the middle of the parking lot.
5:50 am. Find some of your mates. Check surf. Looking decent, but kinda packed. Talk kak with them for a while.
6:07 am. Start suiting up, then apply sunblock and wax.
6:10 am. Finally lock car and head out.
6:12 am. Wind turns onshore.
