Friday 22nd October, 1.30pm

MG

SW breaks the news to me as we meet that KH had to retire to bed with a hot water bottle after our swim yesterday, and when he stopped to do some shopping on the way home, his hands were shaking so much that he couldn’t input his pin. Suddenly my two baths don’t seem so bad. But I think we’ve all learnt that staying in too long at this temperature is UNWISE.

I’ve got the Mascot and the Mascottini, which is the worst of both worlds. I’m trying to persuade myself that it’s because the Mascot isn’t fully recovered, and to back up this story, I’m forcing her to stay on the lead. Actually, I just couldn’t bear to leave the Mascottini at home. So she’s frolicking ahead and dashing back to boast to the Mascot “this is where Percy nearly trampled the bluebottle” “this is where I thought MG had drowned” while the Mascot plods glumly along, resentment and betrayal all over her whiskery face.

It’s been a sunny morning but is beginning to cloud up by the time SW, the Long Suffering SH and I are united at West Bay at 1.30. There’s also a brisk wind and large-ish, though unscary, waves. But SW’s policy of changing and doing is a good one, and before we can feel too horror struck, we are taking the plunge, with only a few squeaks of protest. The knives of cold stab and subside; it’s bliss. Clear, wavy, sun flickering in and out, that settling feeling of calm and tranquillity which must be something to do with the cold; as physical feeling fades, so too does emotional – all that’s left is, as SW temptingly puts it, a sensation of being bathed in wart-destroying liquid nitrogen, and a mind empty of all but joy and peace.

I don’t feel cold at all, even after 20 minutes (which we agree is probably about as long as we should allow ourselves to stay in) and really have to force ourselves out, turning back several times to do some prancing. SW has an edge of chill, but thinks it is warmer underwater; I point out this is probably due to the blood rushing from his heart to his brain in a desperate attempt at self preservation. When we do emerge, I’m again pink all over and having had an accidental swallow and choke episode with a galloon of sea water, to my pleasure my voice has sunk a gravely four octaves. We rush to change while the heat surge lasts. But… “I bet you’re jealous now” stammers SW through gritted teeth as he struggles into t-shirt, jumpers, coats, and I pull on two pairs of over-the-knee socks and wellies “yes, really jealous….” Says SH with a sardonic smile.

The joyful moment has arrived when The Bar is thrusting up it’s shutters and putting out it’s tables for the Winter season – a thermos of Camp Coffee, the world’s most delicious drink. SW points out that if we were drinking it at home, it probably wouldn’t be so blissful, but at this place, at this time, it hits the spot like a hypodermic full of nectar. We have a classic conversation while SW sloshes coffee all over himself with shaking hands; the cold and delirium for a moment transporting us into the lives of two Retirement Home Residents;

MG “You can make delicious milkshakes with Camp Coffee”

SW “You can?”

MG “You did?”

SW “What?”

MH “What”

While SH looks bemusedly from one to the other. It only comes to an end as I dissolve into giggles.

We’re refreshed and pleasantly chilled as we pack up and head to the cars, discussing ways of enlivening the blog over the winter, as our swimming locations become unavoidably narrower. The Swimmer in the Bath Tub perhaps?

I return home to a parcel of jams from our Norfolk outpost, JJ, and a note I think I may frame...