"By way of background, following a pattern common to many, my A'levels were not good enough for a university education in Wales so I drifted abroad to England where I have lived now for 30 years, good humouredly, as an 'ethnic minority'. This has served to increase my Welshness, and like so many Cymry living 'abroad' I am affectionately known to English friends as the Welshman.

I have many fond stories and recollections of a wonderful childhood growing up in Conwy and maintain strong links with family and friends who are either Jackdaws [people born within Conwy town walls], or have set foot on the magic stone under Porth Isaf which prevents them from leaving.

One of my favourite tales, which brings looks of incredulity from my 16-year-old son and his friends, is that I and my very good friend Pete 'Indiana' Jones (he is now an archaeologist) were at the forefront of surfing in the area, along with a handful of school friends from John Bright. As 13-year-olds we would drool and dream over pictures and stories of surfing from distant shores, listening (sadly?) to Jan and Dean and the Beach Boys!

As 15-year-olds we saved enough money to buy second-hand surfboards from the nearest surf shop, Dave Friar's Surf on the Mumbles, Swansea, having persuaded a cousin with a car to drive us all the way there and back in one-day trip.

Surfing Morfa beach in stormy November, clad only in shorts, T-shirt and jumper, did not quite live up to the warm water images of Technicolour Kodachrome! This, after lugging our weighty 8ft boards over Conwy Mountain!

Gradually, we ventured further afield to Rhosneigr and Hell's Mouth, and met aspiring surfers from other parts, notably the North West of England.

And so, surfing as a sport grew in North Wales, a mere shadow of what it has become today.

I still surf a few times a year, and for the best part of those 30 years away we have had a surfing holiday in Pembrokeshire."