Today was a good day for a pre-brekko dip in the sea. Warm, still, balmy. Air like champagne. We’re in that magical window of perfection that happens just before winter unleashes itself. Now is the time. Especially if you like to swim.
All over the world, in seaside neighbourhoods like the place where I live, there’s a fraternity of malpitte who don’t let the odd cold morning get in the way. They get up in the dark, in the middle of winter, and lope across the road to take a paddle in the heaving nori flavoured Slush Puppy. They do this even when it’s raining, even in the dark, even on mornings when you and I struggle to slip out from under our down and feathers to shuffle to the kitchen and put the kettle on. The Easter weekend was cold and wet and oily. It reminded me what a real winter morning is like. And it’s specifically those mornings that the early morning swimmers live for. You can see them crossing the road, looking cheerful and fearless.
I’m taking my hat off. Medals for them. They have something that I don’t. And I have – well – I have my down blanket, and some nice books, and a lovely bedside light to read by until the sun comes up.
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