I've been meaning to mention this place on here for a while. It's my little oasis of surf. Just off Regent Street.
Hollister (them off posh people) have set up a live stream to Huntington Beach, California just so us lucky, special, chosen few can watch slick Californian hipsters cutting it up amongst the best the Pacific has to throw at them.
After just a few minutes staring at it, you find yourself longing, deeply, for the smell of neoprene and the feel of salt on your skin. You can almost feel yourself: The weight of the board under your arm. Sand beneath your feet. The offshore wind pushing you towards the bright blue ocean. Plunging yourself in to the white water and paddling towards the line up. You can feel that first wave picking you up as you paddle hard to catch it. Just. As you lose yourself watching the screen watching the happy surfers pick up wave after wave, at will, in the American sunshine. Without a care it the world.
The No.23 flies by.
Splash.
Fuck.
London again.
Damn you Hollister.
Same time tomorrow.
