Brighton, Tuesday November 2nd, 1.15pm

I was caught out by the end of British summertime. After a day of melting in a sunny classroom with winter heating on full blast and all the windows sealed shut I really needed a swim. By the time I escaped the furnace however it was already too dark to swim. Night swimming in summer is one thing, but I am not brave enough to try it in November. My frustration was exacerbated by texts of delight from Dorset based swimmers who had enjoyed a dip in the warm, sunny calm of the day. I ran off my annoyance, happy at least that in the city running was not a problem at anytime as it never really get dark amongst the buildings (the lanes of west Dorset however are spooky and lethal come darkness).

The following day I knew that I had to swim at lunchtime to beat lightfall. The normal weather had returned with dark skies and swirling winds but optimistically I packed my swimming stuff in the morning and headed back to the hothouse.  Another sweltering morning before I virtually flew out the building on the strike of 1. Speed-walking past huddled figures in coats and scarves I reached the shore in just 15 minutes. The sky was grey, the wind was howling, the beach empty. With strong south-westerlys, I had feared a sea too rough to swim but was greeted by beautiful white foam from a thousand rollers. No single wave was over 3 or 4 foot but they were coming every few seconds, breaking far out and rolling to the shore.  I change quickly, covering my clothes with stones to stop them being blown away and was in the water in seconds – I was too keen to swim to even bother thinking about my normal key/wallet issues.

It was low tide which means flat sand underfoot and a gently sloping gradient. The water was cool, certainly not cold. Diving under the first wave, I saw only grey, visibility 1 foot maximum. The grey sea and grey sky was counterbalanced by the sparkling white foam. I jumped over some waves, dived under others and generally threw myself around like a demented seal. Thank goodness the beach was empty. The rollers were a bit too consistent to do any real swimming and the easterly tow so strong that I could only swim on the spot anyway so I just had fun in the waves, rejoicing in the ability to swim at lunchtime. And rejoicing to be able to swim safely in winds that would probably prohibit swimming off Chesil Bank. Before I drifted too far east, I waded to shore and walked back to my pile of clothes. The wind now felt cold and biting so I changed quickly, regretting having come down in just a shirt and trousers. However, once out of the wind and back amongst the buildings I felt both elated and tingly warm.


SW