I took my surfboard on the London underground yesterday. People stared at me and as I dragged it up the longest escalator I have ever seen in my life I heard one guy mutter "space craft". Yes, I have somehow found myself in London. It's colder in the middle of summer than the middle of winter ever really gets at home. I'm in a warm bed eating nutella out of the jar after spending the morning walking the canal and ordering breakfast with extra all types of cheese. Bread that's

I used to hate Jordy Smith. Not with a passion or anything, just in the way that I didn’t want him to get through heats because the made up idea of him in my head wasn’t good and I once saw him doing chin ups in a bar after he got knocked out of the Jbay Open, a reaction that screamed “dick”. That was until I ran into him at a point break in Mozambique and now, now he is my favourite surfer. This story isn’t even really about Jordy. This story is actually about two brothers,