Sunday 4th December, various

Poole Harbour, 9.30 am
SW

Friends rented a cottage in Purbeck for the weekend and I was lucky enough to join them for a few days. We stayed on  Goathorn Peninsular which is just behind Studland in Poole Harbour. It is an isolated spit of land covered in pines and heath with water on 3 sides, ending in a jetty. Heaven.

The snow may have gone overnight but its still icy underfoot and I think/fear that the harbour will be full of meltwater. Brrr. Despite registering almost zero bravery, the location, weather and water are all so unbelievably beautiful that I really have no option but to swim.  

Watching over me I have four temporary lifeguards on land and oystercatchers, curlews and a kingfisher in the water. It does feel a bit chilly but I am in such awe of my surroundings that I wade straight in and dive under. Delicious brain freeze. Oddly not very salty water (brackish here). Milky to murky under the surface but mill-pond still. There was the confusing remains of a mist combining with the water on the horizon to give a single expanse of grey-blue.

A brief swim, a re-entry dive then a hot cup of tea. The sun comes out as I do allowing me to stand and bask for a while before having to get dressed. This place is amazing and I make a vow to come back here for a long swim when the water is warmer.

Burton Bradstock, 3.00

MG

…and phew, in a moment of panic, I spoke far too soon! After waking up to blue skies and getting boiling hot walking the dogs, I resolve to swim by any means necessary – it's too good a chance to miss, and I know it'll be worth it, even if just to make our next swim more manageable. I consider exerting some pressure on KH, but I know that being bullied into submerging in icy water doesn't exactly add to the pleasure. So by a series of cajoling, threatening and empty promises I manage to persuade my unwilling non-support support team to accompany me to the beach and act as lifeguard, and ironically, repel any would be life-savers who think I'm drowning or committing suicide (always my fear). We motor down to Burton Bradstock where as usual on a Sunday, the café is stuffed with people eating fish and chips and staring out to sea and the cliff is studded with people walking their dogs and staring out to sea. But having someone with me makes the audience seem less of an issue (even though my companion warns me that she is going to pretend not to know me, taking a leaf out of JJ's Reluctant Lifeguard's book). The only issue is the grey, freezing waves. My resolve weakens as I watch the surprisingly big waves breaking. But luckily I have talked myself into a corner, so I cast off my clothes, pull on my wetsuit boots and plunge. The boots actually give me an air of authority – I look less like someone who has "gone on holiday by mistake" and more like a serious, well prepared Winter Swimmer. And once in the water they make a huge difference – not discombobulating, and toasty toes.

As always on my own, I'm incredibly brave by necessity and fall in, swim around, out and in again with minimal fuss. It isn't the longest or nicest (murky) swim but I go under and do some backstroke before emerging, glowing and laughing. Most excitingly of all, as I pull off my boots (which is incredibly difficult as SW has warned me – I nearly dislocate my fingers) a slurp of water sloshes out and STEAMS on contact with the cold air. I almost pass out as the smugness levels rocket.

Once dressed in my 15,000 layers (and not feeling even vaguely cold) we head back along the beach. My non-support support team is showing signs of being proud and impressed, and is extremely complementary on my zero-prancing getting in approach. I'm just basking in the glow and thinking that perhaps it's time to drop the "non-support" part of her title, when two fishermen break into a round of applause as I pass. They then negate this by saying "nice to see someone stupider than us!".