Sporting hero

Eighty per cent of the produce on the menu at Fifteen is sourced in Cornwall and Neil’s still chuffed about picking up some St Enodoc asparagus the previous day and bringing it in still dripping with dew.
Overlooking the golden expanse of Watergate Bay, I now find it hard not to be drawn to the sea. After lunch, and armed with my new water-borne confidence, I head down the slipway to meet up with Dan Grant, whose broad South Yorkshire accent disguises a life-long passion for surfing. He grabs me a wet suit and ushers me into the Extreme Academy’s changing room where a pair of shaggy sun-bleached dudes are talking in a foreign language.
“Should be good out there today bro,” mumbles one.
“I’m gonna kill it,” drawls his friend. 
Hope the water’s not too chilly, I think of chipping in, but decide not to spoil the illusion of being in California.
My second activity of the day is to master surfboard basics, under the gaze of an unimpressed family (Albert, age three, having made an accomplished waterski debut hours earlier). Nobody told me how heavy a board can be – my starter model hardly fits under my arm and weighs like a bed. The pros, of course, bounce along carrying short, sexy little numbers. I feel like a right nerd dragging my giant yellow plank down the beach.
We warm up with stretches before practising the basic moves on the sand, lying face down before springing cat-like, all in one move, into a standing pose. I’m exhausted, but Dan has already fastened a tether around my ankle connected to the board – there’s no escape now.
Once in the surf, the board feels no less unwieldy and I battle to push it over knee-high ripples. We press on until waist deep, leaping each time the surf rolls in. My first attempts to clamber on the board are like trying to mount a giant bath soap; my mouth, ears and eyes fill with foam and sea water as I slide off again and again, battered and bewildered. But I won’t stop and finally, as the skin on my fingers starts to resemble pale corduroy – success!
I skim along for five metres lying on my belly. The fact that I’ve seen Jack Russells display better surfing skills on YouTube doesn’t detract from my euphoria.
“I killed it, bro,” I say to Dan, before tripping over my ankle leash.