The Port Eliot weekend turned into a bit of an epic roadtrip – starting with a nine hour journey to Cornwall, where we arrived at Maia’s place just in time for the open mike session at the fisherman’s bar. One thing led to another and we stayed up all night catching up, admiring her fine quiver of surf boards, fine cellar of wine, and adorable cat.
As a result we didn’t arrive at Port Eliot until saturday night, and just had time for a swim and a pint of fine Cornish ale and a chat with Viv Albertine from the Slits before putting up the tent. That’s when it all started unravelling….
Port Eliot mermaid – I felt a bit like this!
I had billed myself as extreme sports hero and made elaborate plans to paddle up the estuary, and alight on the bank and make a dramatic entrance worthy of Bianca Jagger. My message was it’s never too late to re-invent yourself, you’re never too old to be a surf chick. Unfortunately I pulled a tendon banging in a tent peg and by the time I gave my talk on Sunday I was hardly able to stand up and dosed up to the eyeballs on ibuprofen and tiger balm from the first aid tent.
I sat on a soapbox sipping a medicinal gin cocktail from the Hendricks tent and told the assembled masses how fit and empowered I usually am, it was pleasantly surreal, I felt like a preacher converting the crowds to the church of surf…..
The bookshop and the Idler tent both sold out of copies of Surf Mama so something must have worked.