Back on the chain gang. Exit Planet Blighty, enter the Eurozone. Easyjet charged me £18.50 for three boards in a heavy ass boardbag. Six squid per planche? Jah bless your non-Ryanair being Greek asses. It was cold but pretty when I left the Royal County. The train that took me to Gatwick rattled past white fields and snow dappled Home County copses. It looked like this.


Then I landed in Portugal and it was gray and pissing doon with rain. But it was about 15 degrees warmer. What put me in a real good mood when I landed was strutting into the Porto Airport bookstore and being greeted by the Portuguese version of the new Surf Europe SE71 The Photobook 2010, standing prouder than a honeymooner's willy.


I took a bus north to Valenca, near the Spanish border. Eric Rebiere was there to pick me up. I went to hang with him to work on his interview forthcoming in SE72. Make sure you buy that one two. It's not out for a couple of months, so if you put just 4p aside per day till then, you are so in there. He took me to a wicked farmhouse in the hills with 3ft thick walls. His woman cooked a lovely meal which included a dish of garlic and lemon(!) roast potatoes and then we watched The Truman Show in Spanish. I fell asleep happy.


The lemons came from these trees in the front yard. Before I jumped in Rebrix' van and drove home, I loaded up with citrus.

Swell was maximus and howling onshore, but we had a plan. There's always a secret spot on when it's a million foot, in't there? Our secret spot was a left sand point. I could tell you all about it, but then I'd have to shallow grave you.


After a day of big fun, I borrowed Eric's motor and drove back to France. I was having a really nice dream about a girl I was at school with in 1991 and then I woke up and I was in Leon, Spain. I thought I should pull over and kip, and did. Don't drive tired, much less actually asleep.

Nighty night!