I sometimes think surfing was almost more exciting when I didn't live here. My whole week revolved around the forecast for the weekend, deciding where to go, booking campsites, pleading with my boss to be let out early on Friday, spending six hours in the car on Friday night just in the hope that there might be something surfable. Having the surf permanently on your doorstep can lead to a certain level of complacency; I certainly don't obsess about surfing like I used to, it's just a normal part of my life.
But there's something special about getting up when it's dark and cold outside and driving down empty roads; spurred on by the knowledge that there are still three hours before work and a clean offshore swell waiting at the beach. Arriving at the beach and straining to see the waves in the pre-dawn light, watching the stars disappear as you pull your wetsuit on, seeing the sun rise over the sand dunes between sets, spending the day at work with a salty smile on your face. That's what surfing's about.