GARY BAINBRIDGE Left treading water as the tide turns

IDON’T do beach holidays. Yes, I went on a lot of seaside holidays when I was a child, but I did not see much of the sea. It was just that holidays happened to occur next to the sea, in fairs and amusement arcades. The sea itself was an irrelevance.

Whenever I did experience sand on holiday it was simply a nuisance. It was something that got into your mouth and your socks, even if you hadn’t been wearing socks, and ruined your picnic. It was something that was either red hot or sludgily cold, something that made walking four times more difficult than on proper ground.

It will not come as a surprise, then, that I did not swim in the sea as a child. This was for a number of reasons. Firstly, have you ever been in the sea? I have paddled in the sea before now, under sufferance. It’s flipping cold.

I don’t care about the jetstream or El Niño warming it up – the only difference perceptible in the UK is that some parts of the sea are freezing and some parts are slightly less freezing. There is a reason we invented hot water tanks and power showers.

Secondly, and more importantly, I can’t swim. That is an exaggeration. I can swim, but only in the way that a dog can walk on its hind legs – unconvincingly and for short distances. I have a 25m badge, but, honestly, I have no idea how I achieved it. Probably some sort of science fiction-like wormhole.

Some people are naturally buoyant. I am not. I make the rubber brick from swimming lessons look like the polystyrene float from swimming lessons. If I ever upset the Mafia, they wouldn’t have to give me concrete shoes. They’d just have to chuck me in the 6ft end at the leisure centre before tootling back to the gym machines.

Thirdly, the sea is big and heavy and unpredictable, and the ground falls away unexpectedly. If you can swim, this is absolutely tremendous and exhilarating. If you can’t, it’s like putting your head inside a lion’s mouth and insulting its mother.

So I have tended to shun the sea, and when I have had to swim it has been under strict indoor, if not laboratory, conditions, with lots of echoing, no heavy petting, and people doggedly sticking to lanes despite a rudimentary game of water polo happening across their path.

Then I found myself on a beach holiday with a group of strong and hardy sea swimmers. “Come in the sea, Gary,” they said, as strong and hardy sea swimmers do. Normally I would have told them to get in the sea, so to speak, but my significant other was among their number, and this felt like one of those defining moments.

Fear, you see, is something to be conquered. It’s not brave to do something that doesn’t scare you. It’s not brave to make a cup of tea if you know how kettles work.

So, tentatively, I edged into the pulsing water, as if I were expecting piranhas. The water was cold, but not fridge cold, and I eventually got up to waist height. After an excessive amount of coaxing, I plunged in up to my neck, and adjusted to the temperature with a degree of fuss.

“Swim! It’s lovely”, said my significant other. “I can’t”, I said.

“You can,” she explained. “Just start by treading water.”

“You can’t tread water”, I said. “You tread IN water.”

“Fine, try to float”, she said. She showed me how to lie on my back, and spread out. I was sceptical, but it worked. For a moment or two, I was supported by the brine. Then a wave of water brought a wave of doubt, and I sank again.

“OK, now try swimming breaststroke,” she said. “No, not that fast.” The water looked like slush around me. “Slow, wide strokes.” I complied. And she was right. I moved through the water with relative ease.

In the end, I didn’t want to get out of the water. But I dripped up the beach, satisfied. I had done it. After a tremendous amount of bravery and effort, I had slain the dragon.

A day later, she stated in a kind way that she thought it best we didn’t see each other any more. My significant other had othered me significantly.

It was nothing to do with the swimming. The sea itself was an irrelevance.