I was going to talk about surfing the unpredictable ebb and flow of psyche, of ageing, of competing with your younger self, of being steamrollered by the weight of expectation, then being buoyed on by an infinitesimally tiny success. Of the silent guilty resentment when everyone else gets their projects done except you. Of misjudging the conditions, going to the wrong crag, or going to the right crag at the wrong time. Of how there’s definitely a right time for certain things, for you, no matter how fleeting. And how if you can line things up on that day then almost anything is possible. Of how, conversely, if you force it the door slams shut.