I amused my thoughts with the rubbery sloshness of my steps. The bridges of my feet wobbled like jelly. I sustained a mature enough approach as to not jump on the spot giggling like a freak. My calves looked like inflated balloons. Most of Bass Strait was trapped in my two-sizes-too-big wetsuit with no where to go. My booties provided me with the entertaining journey up the cliff away from the beach.
Removing them resulted in a near-on waterfall effect. The puddle that was the interior of my wetsuit suddenly drained. It was pouring with rain, 40+ knots of onshore blasting Antarctic wind and the outside temperature was hovering between seven and eight degrees. It was not the kind of surf you envision in your fantasies. But I had my booties. The booties made it all the more fun.