Surfing. To many, the word conjures up a vision of young guys and girls with bleached blonde hair and tanned bronze skin. They’re gliding across clear turquoise waters, over tropical coral reefs, towards idyllic palm tree-lined beaches. A blazing sun beats down as fresh fruit and ice-cold beer provide much-needed refreshment.
This may be surfing as you know it. But not me.
I was born and bred in Yorkshire. And Yorkshire folk are famous for many things. One is being fiercely proud of the patch of dirt we just happen to be born on. Another, is being stubborn. Combine those traits with a wetsuit and surfboard, and a Yorkshireman or woman sees no need to head for the surfing Meccas of Hawaii, Indonesia or Australia. Why yearn for the Gold Coast when we have the Cold Coast?