Sunday morning – about 6:30 a.m., I opened my eyes on a lounge floor; and that’s another story. But the August light was filtering in through the blinds and I knew it was low tide at Preston. The thought went through my head: Just leave it, now. Go back to sleep. But I knew I’d regret that: it would get to half-past shopping-time and I’d be in a regretful queue for the tills. So I dragged myself clear and out the door to the sound of waves breaking in the distance. The easterlies had shut off and the forecast lights had left a smoothly groomed a wave-playground to end a SUP drought with only windsurfing to show for it. And by seven, I’d surfed perfect waves before a breath of air could even ruffle a line. So here are some pics I took….as I woke up on the beach.