Diary of an urban Grandad

SPENT some time in Kent recently, which was rather fab. Regular readers might even remember my slightly overexcited piece last week about the local wine.

Which is very nice, by the way. Very gluggable. But now I’m back in town, baby, with a couple of bottles in tow, raring to get back into the swing of Bristol life. Which is even more fab.

Only fly in the ointment is that I now find myself with a slight problem. Not sure how to deal with it. After all, if history has taught us anything, it is that you can’t beat the sea at its own game. No way, no how. Allow me to explain.

You see, there are many temptations out there in the big, bad world. Bright lights and big cities are chock full of them.

My own journey through life has allowed me to stumble across several excitements that could easily have led to a life of regret and addiction.

But luckily, so far, I have avoided nearly all of the pitfalls. Apart from biscuits and buns, obviously. No one is safe from their seductive charms. No one.

However, in recent years, I have discovered a new and fiendishly compelling source of excitement. Sea swimming.

No matter what part of the world I have found myself in over the last decade or so, I have always been gripped by an urge to jump in the local sea and swim, whenever I have found a suitable spot nearby.

Seem to remember this all started when I was spending quite a bit of time in the Middle East. Out there, the sun is hot and the sea is similar.

At times, it was more like jumping into a bath than jumping into an ocean. Don’t know if you have ever tried swimming in a hot bath, it’s not as easy as it sounds.

By the time you’ve travelled far enough to get the heart pumping, it actually feels like you’re sweating into the water. Which is weird. Not at all pleasant, either.

Moving on, I started to spend more time in south-east Asia, where the sun is still hot but the sea is a bit less so. Much more pleasing to the soul. Swimming in those waters is sublime. A joy hard to beat. Or so I thought at the time.

But then I discovered the Canaries. A bunch of beautiful, sundrenched islands off the west coast of Africa.

On day one of my arrival, I went for a dip in the waters. Being as we were close to Africa, I rather expected them to be on the warmish side.

But I was wrong. Very wrong. They were freezing cold. Fresher than a fridge full of frogs. More like an encounter with icicles than a soak in the bath.

But, after the initial surprise had worn off and my heart rate had returned to less than three digits, found that this whole cold water immersion thing is strangely habit-forming.

Found myself jumping back into the water every day for the rest of the time out there.

Returning to the good old UK after all this excitement, I started taking to the south-western seas without a wetsuit. In fact, without any of the usual thermal protective gear I had worn for years in the surf around these parts. No gloves, no boots, no anything. Reckoning that wet suits were for wimps. Also, they got in the way of a good time. Stopped you getting the full-on frozen effect.

These days, the only things I wear in the water are my trusty trunks and a smile big enough to bathe in. All of which brings me neatly back to Kent last week. At this time of year, the beaches are pretty much deserted. The only folk to be seen are those brave souls walking their dogs, jogging along determinedly or cycling past at speed. So whenever I wandered onto the shingle wearing nothing but swimmers and a smile, it got a strange reaction.

Especially when it was raining and windy. To put it simply, people looked at me as if I was a wrong ’un. Sigh. Can’t say I blame them. Don’t quite understand the compulsion myself.

Either way, whatever the weather, when the tide was in and the waves were high, I would always be there, at the water’s edge, preparing for the short, sharp shock that jumping into the British sea delivers. Most delicious.

Problem is, now I’m back home, where do I go to get my daily dose of cold water therapy? Hmm. Questions, questions.

Hope you and yours are safe, well and happy.

Until next time, all the best.

❝ These days, the only things I wear in the water are my trusty trunks and a smile big enough to bathe in