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I met Milky that morning as I was going out for a surf at Godrevy. He told me Paul had died in the early hours. It was a hammer blow. I was shocked, stunned and instantly conflicted - I really didn't feel like surfing but after to-ing and fro-ing on the shoreline for five minutes, I decided to paddle out anyway..
It was the worst surf I've ever had.
The worst because I was upset and distracted and overcome by grief. My mind was spinning with thoughts of Ginch. I swore, I sobbed, I shouted in frustration that he'd drawn his last breath while the rest of us could carry on living life. I was sad for Jenny and his daughters, all his family.
Maybe being in the surf was the best place for me to process this. On dry land I'd be a mess, pacing up and down, agitated and confused, not knowing what to do with myself. Being in the sea at Godrevy, on my board, was probably the best place I could have been. Every wave, every ride, every splash, every paddle-stroke was with Paul by my side.
I certainly couldn't call it a good session but it was the best I could do that day.
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