If that was xmas then you've had it mate

Well Christmas is over again.....

The carnage started xmas eve. I decided to do the last minute (ok, I confess, my only) xmas shopping at, gulp {what in the widewide world of sports was i thinking}, Southland shopping mall. Arguably Mistress P chose worse - Coles and the pre-xmas cooking ladys rush. I was out of Southland in about 2 hours relatively unscathed (plus a donut - the food of kings) whereas P spent a lifetime in the Coles checkout queue alone and arrived home in need of a Milo and good lie down.

That afternoon had a sail at Sth Ricketts, overpowered on a 4.1. Was heading out the back when I noticed a guy in the water looking up at me with big pleading eyes... he was still in the water with same big pleading eyes after I gybed and headed back towards shore.
"You alright mate??"
"EErrrrr Umm... I broke this thing..." {holds up a completely floppy and useless sail}.
"Right you are then...."
A bit of spare rope and we tied his bedraggled rig to my footstrap and tried to sail in while he swam in with his sailess board. Nice theory. Crappy in practice. I was almost onto the kit-eating-rocks below the cliff when i decided making it back to the beach was impossible with my boat anchor attached, gave momentary thought to what this guy might do if i ditched his rig, then decided (he was meaner looking than me...) to flop ingraciously in the water and let myself drift into Quiet Corner. We've been friends ever since...

Xmas started the traditional way - peeling 4.5kg of spuds while mistress P had a sleep in and shower. (We were due to make the potato salad for the family feast: I peeled, P cooked.) I fixed the borrowed kit trailer to the car in the (ultimately futile) belief that this would be my third xmas day in a row with sailing session. Xmas with the folks and cousins swelled the belly to breaking point, only for said point to be exceeded by the subsequent dinner with the outlaws. All the eating time also managed to gobble all the sailing time, so i was skunked even though it blew its proverbials off all day. Still, got a subscription to BOARDS out of it all from the wonderous mistress P, so it wasnt a complete waste of a good sailing opportunity. (And its always good to see ya mum.)

Boxing day it was the bolt to Sandy Point, former home of the world sailing speed record and place of the mistress and my nuptials - no wind, so a lie on the beach and the odd outing on the boogie board. Nice waves.... the next few days were spent waiting for wind, swimming, eating and generally having an all too relaxing time with our good friends + dogs (dont tell the agent). Also plenty of time with an old sailing buddy and his 3 y.o twins. On a quiet arvo me, dad & twins wandered down the inlet to take a gander and check for wind. Boy twin gives the cry
"Daddy.. watch this"
Boy drops the duds, stands to attention, does a wee on the beach infront of a couple of sunbakers.
"Oh god..." says dad "not again".
A minute passes.
"Daddy... watch this".
Boy squats over sand; Dad's chin sinks to his chest.
Boy produces a steaming Mr Whippy (chocolate of course) on the sand.
"Mate, you've gotta start bringing a few plastic bags to the beach" I say as dad tries to dig a hole and bury the cable.
Kids eh? And we're crazy enough to want 'em.

New Years Eve sees us out of the house but still in Sandy - a glorious beach day in Sth Gippsland but a stinker in the city apparently: 43degC - who'd wanna be there? (Come to think of it, that question goes for any day, regardless of temperature...) Wind starts to pick up from the NE but theres just too many people on the surf beach for a wave sail, so head to the inlet. BALLLISTIC! Wind rises to around 40knots easterly. Rig the 4.1 & waveboard and get out into it with the the twins-dad, who's using my 4.6 and freeride board. I'm assuming i'll see him blown off the beach but he manages to hold it down quite well with his "cupla" extra pounds - indeed it was one of the few days when i wished that i weighed 20kg more too (and mostly in the testicular dept), cos the 4.1 was wayyy too big, wind wayyy too strong and chop wayyy too confused.

Once the arms had stretched about 3 inches i called it a night, and hence P & I spend NYE tracking the tar back to town, and then dead on the couch cos our house was only a faintly milder temperature than the core of the sun. Sleep, even if completely knackered, was an impossibility. Was home just in time for the illegal fireworks display at midnight (oh the joy in living in the "Beirut end of Hampton"), flicked through some pics of the holiday on the 'puter, and there you have it. 2006 gone. Sum total of 65 sailing sessions for the year... brilliant. Not so brilliant was starting the new year by catapulting my head through my 5.0 sail, and then even less brilliant was finding that our neighbour-the-sailmaker was away and being forced to spend $160 repairing it at some yachting place -Ouch!

Mistress P was soon back to work but i was "deemed to be on leave" cos i had too much accrued. Darn it... not allowed back to the salt mine. Oh the tradgedy. Bummed about, sailing whenever i could, and spending guilty hours sitting by the beach reading the morning newspaper cover to cover. Life doesnt get much better than that my friend.