Got this from my girlfriend today- made me laugh- hopefully wont bore you all too much!!

An Ode to Windsurfing. In January!



Im in love with a boy whos a bit special

Who doesnt do weights at the gym

But dresses in rubber and latex

And goes where the mad eejits swim



He thinks that its mild when its freezing

And he rigs up his sail to his boom

But the day will come when men in white coats

Will lock him in a well-padded room



Theyll examine for signs of psychosis

And ask them selves how could it be?

That this man likes to sail on the ocean

When the temperatures below minus 3!



Hell protest that he has a rubber balaclava

And he wees down his leg when he can

And theyll release him with strong medication

With a warning tag- Do Not Approach this Man!

Oh Lordy young man, Nobody who clads themselves in rubber believes that Cyborg is that talented

Fantastic !



I'm very impressed ! Poetry is one of those things I wouldn't attempt in a million years although you might want to persuade me to try if I ever look like I'm heading for the microphone at a karaoke. There's no doubt I must be better at poetry than singing !



Tell you girlfriend well done and if she's got any more we'll dedicate a part of the site to windsurfing poems.....



Bert

The devil came down to plague this earth

In the form of Bert & Ernie from iWindsurf

They are very very bad

In rubber they are clad

Turn away young sailors for your rebirth !

ANOTHER SHORE LINE



Winds up, A westerly a bloody high tide..

Off to West Kirby, Those rollers to ride.

Out to Red Rocks, Feel the adrenaline rush..

Like the crap in our lives, It needs a good flush.

But on the way back, me style goes to pot..

Catch 'me fin in the sand, hit 'me head on a rock.



Tides out now, So over the rim and onto the lake..

This flat water sailing's a real piece of cake.

Tune 'me best sail.. tight as a bow..

Hurl down the wall.. just see me go.

Into the gybe I go for a duck..

Smash my nose on the boom and cry out 'oh f@#K'



Water-start fumbled, 'cause the wind is light..

Sinkin' deep in lake water, that's black as night.

Risin' to the surface, I need a 'Jimmy Riddle'..

Caught out this way, in my suit I piddle.

Scream down the middle, to hell with the chop..

Wait for the spinout and 'me spectacular flop.



In again, under the sail..

Short of breath, Looking quite pale.

Rig's arse about face, with hands turning blue..

Seven wasted years - Still haven't a clue.

Heading for the prom, stance looking good..

Who said this lightning's a big plank of wood?



Fall on the mast, Like some meat on a skewer..

But lucky me, I come up by the sewer.

Back on board, I wave to the 'Birds'..

Look down at the deck, covered in turds.

Wipe out once more, Gash 'me shin on 'me fin..

Enoughs enough, This lots for the bin.



Best finish this stint, it's getting quite dark..

I go arse over tit and slam the car park.

That's it , it's over, I'm really fed up..

Come on John, let's get to the pub.

Bleeding and bruised, My sailing's day's done..

See you next week, For some more skill fun !



by Peter Sharp, West Wirral Windsurfers

'VASS' KIRBY WINDSURFERS





West Kirby in winter.. it's always a bummer..

So bookings are made for Vass in the summer.

Here we can sail on a bloody long reach..

Totally and utterly beyond sight of the beach.

Go for a gybe and then a water-start..

Cock it up twice.. silly old fart.



The hot shots arrive and show off too much,

The Germans and Danes, and sometimes the Dutch.

Their booms are too high and their bellies too low..

But their birds are all topless, with titties on show.

We break out some kit and take to the Med..

Can't let Eric see us knackered, half dead.



Out on the water, we even the score..

It's a bit like re-fighting the second world war.

We form an Armada, and sailing 'balls out'..

We cut up the Hun's as they potter about.

Stealing their wind, blocking tracks of the hoards..

The water's alive with our squadron of boards.



When the damage is done to the sound of Greek cheers..

We return to the bar for several large beers.

Save but one of our number, an old squadron leader..

His only thought is to down a Retsina.

Then it's back to the flat, feeling pissed and bold..

Just as well, since the shower's always cold.



And then in the evening, whilst eating at 'Nick's'..

We tell porky pies 'bout our latest tricks.

The girls are amazed as we tell 'em the tales..

Of forward and back loops.. all off the rails.

But pressed to confession, it drives me to tears,

With only one gybe in the last fourteen years.



by John Lobley, West Wirral Windsurfers