I read an article during our so-called summer about the proliferation of wetsuits on the beaches, lakes and rivers of this Island. Apparently wearing togs is so 10 years ago writes Roisin Ingle.
At the time the article appeared I couldn't think of anything worse than wandering around an Irish beach in what a friend calls "the black nude". But times change. People change. Invites arrive for surfing weekends and suddenly you are in Bundoran voluntarily changing into your very own black nude. Life is hilarious like that.
I made a few initial mistakes when planning the weekend. Three to be precise. If you suspect you might suffer from WN (wetsuit nervosa) it's best not to bring your superfit boyfriend, your surfing-experienced brother and your nymph-like sister-in-law along. You are just not going to look good beside these people, even if you did starve yourself for three days before the trip. (And refraining from eating the batter off your batter burger is not technically starving yourself anyway. I think the word for it is delusional.)
They say everyone suffers from a spot of wetsuit nervosa, but this is patently untrue. Cameron Diaz didn't look too worried about the size of her thighs when I spotted her catching some waves in a magazine recently, and Cian Egan of Westlife always looks pretty relaxed in his. It seems that for some people donning a wetsuit is, if not exactly slipping into something more comfortable, then at least slipping into something that won't make others confuse them with a type of sea mammal. I am not one of those people.
Before I elaborate on the extreme sport known as Getting Into A Wetsuit, I would like to say a few words in favour of holidaying in Bundoran. It gets a bad rap, this seaside town, but we all had a grand time. On the Friday night we saw two great bands, either of which would make the wannabes on the X-Factor quiver in their trainers.
"Inuendo" may have a slightly dodgy name but the cute threesome have their own brilliant brand of that Busted/McFly style music going on. Maybe they should change their name to McBusted. Down in the Bootleggers bar we boogied to "Box T", a big hulk of a man who can play the electric guitar with his teeth. Need I say more?
It wasn't all fun. The boyfriend was pushed out of the way by a woman in one pub and I was poked in the back repeatedly by two blokes in another. On the plus side, the place is so full of Dublin people lured here by the promise of living in a real-life surfing town that there is a cool mix of the local and the blow-in. The town also boasts an exceptional restaurant called La Sabbia where you get whole sea bass or a generous plateful of melt-in-the-mouth calamari for a price not found elsewhere in Rip Off Ireland. Here endeth the Bord Fáilte advert.
Back to the changing rooms at the Donegal Adventure Centre, where your correspondent was growing sweatier by the minute. I'm sure you will understand my decision to get changed into the wetsuit in a locked toilet cubicle as opposed to the open-plan changing room where I could hear the other beginner surfer chicks struggling into theirs.
"Hey, look, it's easier to get it on when you are in the shower," I heard one of them say. Well thanks for sharing, but the ordeal was humiliating enough without adding water to the equation.
But it was a surfing weekend, and water had to be added eventually. Keeping my knee-length waterproof jacket on over my wetsuit to delay the mortification, I lumbered out to meet the others. I gave boyfriend a sneak preview when no one was looking and asked him to try and say something kind. "You look, er, buoyant," was all he could come up with. I retorted by informing him that some men get even more mortified about their wetsuits, and that quite a few strategically stuffed socks have been employed by surfer dudes over the years. That wiped the smile off his face.
Off we went to Tullan Strand, where I wore the jacket right up to the water's edge. Somehow I forgot my embarrassment in the ocean where we spent hours being tossed around, our foam boards tied to our ankles and the dreaded wetsuits keeping us warm. The brother, sister-in-law and boyfriend all managed to surf standing up, however briefly, and with the help of the authentic-looking surfing instructors even I managed to catch a few waves, albeit lying horizontal on the board. The fact that I would be prepared to endure Wetsuit Hell again to go surfing in the Atlantic ocean says an awful lot. Buoyant? There are worse things they could say.
The Ocean Festival takes place in Bundoran on Thursday September 30th to October 3rd. Events include surf movies, exhibition surfing, surf lessons and the Gala Ocean Ball. Contact 071-9842418 or e-mail info@donegal-holidays.com for more details