Thursday 21st October 11.30am

MG

Today I made some mistakes, discovered something horrifying and Percy nearly trampled the world’s smallest dog betwixt his enormous Labradoodle paws. It’s a fairly average swimming day.

I returned yesterday from “sunnier” climes where in fact it rained almost ceaselessly, and my only glimpse of the wine-dark sea was as a blur whilst running to escape an “acqua bomba” (no joke, actual headline) which washed a tidal wave of water almost over our Lancia. Even I could not face a dip amidst the thunder and lightening of that storm. So it’s with a singing heart that I cast aside my passport and awake to a glorious day.

We’ve set a date for 11.15 at West Bay, and I and the Mascottini join KH, Percy and a new recruit, SN, on the picture perfect beach. The Mascot is almost recovered but I’m now in a quandary as the Mascottini has taken to her new role like, forgive me, a duck to water, and prising her out of it isn’t going to be easy. But the Mascot hasn’t gained her title for nothing and I will harden my heart and leave the Mascottini and all her engaging traits in her basket the instant the Mascot is given a clean bill of health….

SN is new to us but not to the sea, and on the arrival of SW we stroll a little further down the beach, exchanging tricks and ideas about cold water swimming (hats – to do or not to do?). There’s been an abrupt drop in temperature since I left in both sea and air with night frosts…

I’m wary of the water and as we wade in my face scrunched up against the cold. We all agree it feels much colder. KH is in first, as always shaming us with her bravery, and I’m next under and out, through the class clear water. Bracing no longer covers it, and for a moment forgotten pains grab me in my back and across my shoulders – the knives of cold are out. SW rejoices as his favourite stabbing pain returns in his “disco wings” (an old favourite from when we couldn’t remember the term “bingo wings”). I plough ahead, gritting my teeth against the cold and after a few moments, it’s passed and I’m toasty warm. But I’m a little shaken by how cold it felt, and I’m aware afresh that swimming all year round isn’t all going to be beer and skittles. I try to phrase this to SW but his look of horror and panic on detecting a note of weakness leads me to hastily reaffirm my wild swimming pledge – All Year Round.

And now, comes a moment of horror. KH and SN have taken off sideways, swimming parallel to the shore, and SW and I are heading outwards. About halfway to the end of the Pier, SW, glancing downwards, remarks on how amazingly clear it is, you can see the ripples on the sand beneath us and feel like you can reach out and touch it. I agree. SW disappears underwater and I gaze upwards at the cruising gulls. And then – I can hardly bear to write it – SW emerges with a handful of sand clenched in his fist. He HAS touched the bottom! All these years we’ve been boasting about the unfathomable depths, and all the time they were just 15 feet below us! I feel like I’m in The Matrix. The line between reality and fantasy, fact and fiction, is blurred forever. SW is so alarmed he texts me from home 7 hours later to tell me how freaked out he is. Luckily though, we agree that a) we are swimming above a freak sandbank b) it’s a very odd tide due to the approach of the full moon c) nothing has happened, and if it has we will never refer to it again. The surface has been ruffled for a moment, but now the water closes over the unquestionably UNFATHOMABLE depths.

We paddle inwards, SW admitting to a pleasant frisson of cold. I can’t bear to give in and the others are the same, wading out before dashing back in and swimming energetically. It’s too good to stop. As KH, SN, and finally SW do go in, like the idiot I am I disobey my own rule and stay in far too long. I’ve sunk in to a state of such blissful tranquillity, all my preoccupations dropping away to settle far (far, far, FAR) below me – that I no longer care about ever getting out. But as the others finish dressing and KH does some warming star jumps, I drag myself ashore. I am “alarmingly pink” (KH) all over, as though peeled and marinated. The glow of inside seems to be burning through to outside. I dress hurriedly, but not hurriedly enough, and as we set off down the beach, I’m fighting a biting chill. As Percy galumphs up to a dog the size and shape of a bluebottle, which gazes up at him with horrified eyes, I’m fighting off shivering and cannot follow KH and SW’s conversation at all due to the roaring in my ears. I’m completely breathless as we climb up the bank away from the beach but manage to pant to SW that I feel like my lungs are closing up. A passing walker looks a little shaken, so I give a toss of my damp head and a gasping attempt at a merry laugh. I wave off the others and collapse into my car. Once home, the paralysis of cold is easily cured by two hot baths, tights, leggings, furry slippers and four helpings of pasta and piperonata. Maybe a little less time in the water tomorrow….