It’s going swimmingly

It has been a glorious summer for swimming all round, and even now as I sit looking at the drizzle outside my kitchen window, the weather isn’t exactly wintery, though this morning when I took my clothes off at the lido for my daily swim it felt a little like being slapped around the legs with nettles when I first got in. The fact that there were only about five other people in the pool is a sign that temperatures are dropping like a stone ( they don’t allow under 16’s to swim once it goes it below 15 degrees, which seems a little strange, I would have though us over 60’s are much more at risk of heart attacks, but perhaps my blubber is a safety net). But then, as always, after huffing and puffing like a walrus and thinking ” I only need to stay in for a minute’ I look at the big sky stretching out above me, do another length, and then another, and another and suddenly my head clears and everything is right with the world. It’s the time when I make lists , think about what I need to do, who I need to see, wonder whether to have toast or scrambled eggs for breakfast, or just let my mind wander. I suppose it’s a sort of meditation ( though some might argue its more of an endurance test) but I certainly feel great afterwards.

We had some wonderful sea swimming too this year, in North Devon in August , where for the first time ever the idea of Greek villa holiday option wasn’t discussed once because frankly the weather was as hot if not hotter than Greece. Raincoats and wellies remained unpacked throughout and we wafted around the campsite in hats and a state of sunburnt disbelief. Down at the quay, the water was cool and the colour of jade, the water flat like a mill pond so you could swim right out and round the rocks, something you normally only do at certain times because the tides are too wild and the sea too rough. The evenings were comfortingly cool with shocking scarlet sunsets as we poured gin and tonics and lay on the grass looking for shooting stars. We lit a fire each night but more because it’s what we always do, not because we needed to for warmth. Camp life was easy because you weren’t constantly having to tighten tent poles, battle against the wind, dry out wet muddy washing, find a dry lighter so you could light the stove, or get in and out of damp waterproofs the entire time. Weirdly, even though it was completely lovely not to have to think about any of the usual weather related things, I sort of missed it (and the complaining about it).

Portugal in September was wonderful. It’s a different heat, the sort of dry heat infused with the smell of scorched earth, ripe figs and hot air, that reminds me of my Tokyo childhood without the cicadas and the hiss of water sprinklers. In the early mornings as I padded across the cool kitchen tiles in my bare feet, the sky was already brilliantly bright blue against the whitewashed house with a splash of impossibly pink bougainvillea against the wall. The sort of weather to get down to the seafront early, past the storks nesting on top of the church, for coffee and custard tarts and then to the market looking for sweet fleshed yellow melons that taste of summer and huge bulbous tomatoes the size of a babies head. A dash of olive oil, fresh basil leaves, a twist of black pepper,a sprinkle of salt and there you have it.

We caught the ferry over to the island and walked, sun umbrellas, books and bottles of water in our bags, across the dunes past shacks, olive trees and cafes. The sand was white and the sea was turquoise, buoyant and fresh. We collected striped shells and had lunch overlooking the bay our cheeks sun blasted and sandy. Another day we went by boat to an island called Deserta. It was beautiful but not in any way deserted, as the beach was busy with day trippers, boats and loudmouthed fisherman. with berry brown pot bellies and cans of Estrella. The water was clear and cool, and as we swam fish jumped right in front of us, flashing like strips of silver foil as they splashed and spun in the sunshine.

And now I’m back in Camberwell, the Virginia creeper is turning red and there are apples on the tree in the allotment. I started this yesterday and it is now morning. Once again I am bracing myself for a morning swim even though the trees at the end of the garden are dancing in the wind and wind is not my friend as I shiver my way across the concrete to the pool. Then again, I only need to stay in for a minute.