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LETTER FROM IRELAND, 1985 - Mickey surfed Ireland before there was known waves for surfing here.

Partial text of the 1985 Ireland Letter: (edited for spelling and grammar)

My lungs are sprouting mushroom spores, every ventricle seems clogged. I feel like a damp moldy mattress in Dr. Frankenstein’s black cellar. (It’s been raining for 3 months.) Outside, gale force winds: ....................I have fits of melancholy and dress in 14 Century attire and re-enact, by mimicking the times of the bubonic plague!

“Greetings from Dissolution Island”
58 mi NW of Ireland near the Hebrides

It’s 4:30 in the morning and I’m encased in rubber, two more hours & I’ll be in the water. Thought I’d drop you a few words to keep my mind off the realities of the land of cold & no sun. Anything is better than decaying in the U.S.A.....

.......The conquering of the darkness of night, the weather, pain, disease, space and time will never happen here. The inhabitants, if not dead drunk on Guiness, toil desperately from dawn to dark, unwashed, unshaven, uncombed with lousey hair mangy skin and rotting teeth to eke out their meager existence in bog waters of never-ending rains. Some times there’s good waves breaking on distant deserted beaches which have gone unridden since the beginning of time. (For damn good REASONS - OBVIOUSLY) I must get some sun; I’m going back to France in early September. (Sheeet more Frogs)


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