The worst thing about surfing (of which there are many) is the wet suit. I now understand the plight of Edwardian women forced into rib crackingly tight corsets and can fully sympathise with the Suffragettes burning their restrictive undergarments. Clothes so tight that you’re forced to walk like you’ve soiled your trousers should be outlawed by the European Court of Human Rights.
I started writing my planned article for today, but when it reached 1000 words and had no end in sight, I decided to write this one instead and continue the other tomorrow.
I’m not entirely sure what happened, but I got a little carried away with a subject I’m pretty passionate about, so you’ll have to forgive me substituting this rambling mess instead, but you’ll be able to read the other post shortly.
Snapchat was the first time I didn’t get it, and still don’t. It was the first time I felt I’d crossed the yearning chasm of youth and was looking back from the other side. It was the first time that I realised Facebook was for the old people (anyone over 25) and that I would never again feel the excitement of feeling a part of something new; instead I would be worried about things like privacy, GDPR, and wasting time.
Yes, there are things like Trump and Brexit which I will never fully understand and took me by surprise, but they didn’t knock my consciousness like the Snapchat revelation. But Snapchat wasn’t the last time I would be knocked sideways by my failing youth.
And yesterday it happened again.