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There’s something I need to tell you… The thing is… I’ve been seeing someone else.

I know, I know. I’m weak. You deserve better. It’s not you, it’s me. But there it is.

My brown-eyed boy – pic by a besotted Girl on the River

First of all, along came an old flame in the form of a beautiful, brown-eyed boy called Morgan – a gorgeous Welsh cob with a shiny coat, a penchant for hedgerows and the sweetest nature you can possibly imagine.

One look and I was smitten.

We spent a blissful weekend together, roaming the Welsh hills with nothing but a map and a couple of trusted friends for company (oh, and some Percy Pigs to zizz things up a bit when we got tired). Our time together re-kindled a passion that I thought had died away long ago.

It was love. It was beautiful. And I totally reverted to a pony-mad nine-year-old doodling pictures of horses in my Maths book.

As is the way of things, though, life returned to normal, and the Girl was soon back on the River. But not for long…

This time it was the Sistas of Surf who stole me away from the river.

Now, I’ll be the first to acknowledge that I’m perhaps not obvious beach babe material. I’m not blonde, for starters, and that is – let’s face it – an absolute requirement in surfer girl world. I’m also not a teenager, I don’t reach for the board shorts when I venture into Fat Face and my bikini days will probably soon be a distant memory.

What do you mean, I don’t look like Pamela Anderson? – pic by Kate Czuczman

 

Once again, though, I had no choice. My heart was snatched away from me, leaving me breathless.

So maybe I’m not quite ready for Malibu Beach, but there are few things as exhilarating as that moment when you stand up on the board and the waves carry you down and forward, the sun glinting on the water. And it’s a rare and glorious sense of triumph when you don’t immediately wipe out under the waves.

And as for the Surf Sistas…

Me and my sistas – pic by Kate Czuczman

What a fantastic bunch of girls. By the end of the weekend I’m not sure if my muscles were aching more from laughing or from surfing (or even from trying to do the four-finger whistle…)

Anyway, I’m back and I haven’t forsaken the river for good, although I did leave a bit of my heart in the Welsh hills and on the beach in Cornwall. If my name isn’t on the squadlist every now and then it might just be that I’ve sneaked off for the weekend, but don’t ask too many questions. Probably best if you take your lead from the husband in Brief Encounter.

Fred: You’ve been a long way away.

Laura: Yes.

Fred: Thank you for coming back to me.

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