I went swimming yesterday. Yeah, yeah I know. Whoop-de–do, right? Unless you’ve got rabies this is a pretty meh to thing to crow about. It’s never going to make the front cover of Take A Break, where all your bleak myopic fantasies can and will come true.
However what if I told you I went swimming out-of-doors? Now I’ve got your attention, haven’t I? Damn! You’re thinking, hot diggity damn! Outside you say?
Well yes I do say sir, I do. I swam outside. With a famous.
A famous? (You)
For real? (You’re saying)
No. No that last bit was a lie to entice you. If you really think that Jay-Z is putting an appearance in at the Lewes Lido any time soon you’ve more problems than this blog can help you with, friend. Ninety nine of them, come to think about it.
But the point still remains. I screwed my courage to the sticking place and went for an outdoors dip. And my God it was HELLISHLY cold. Good saintin’ Jesus it was BITTER.
Do you get this? I feel cold IN MY BONES. It manifests itself as a gnawing, bitter ache in my marrow and permeates my brain with fierce words of defeat. I know an awful lot of curse words and had used them all up and had invented a fair few new ones by the time the water was up to my knees. I went blue. My skin appeared to be made almost entirely of raw nerve endings lit up like Christmas.
We all know I’m a pussy. I would never claim to be anything different. Under torture I’d talk, and your secrets would be the first ones I’d spill. It wouldn’t even have to be proper torture either. If someone threatened to cut my fringe I’d be handing over the secret documents. I am a coward, a yellow belly, a scaredy cat, and I can’t handle the cold.
But you know what? I did it. I braved the pool which was a few degrees below ARCTIC FUCKING TUNDRA on my internal thermometer and swam into the water, gasping, whooping and wheezing as my heart stuttered in protest.
I did it, so where’s my badge?
But seriously. If you like heart-clenchingly icy water and the feeling of imminent death over your shoulder as you paddle frantically to the deep end you ought to find out where your local lido is (or ‘sea’ for you coastal types) and brace yourself for a dip so invigorating it’ll feel as though someone has taken a steel brush to the inside of your skull.
next week: para-fucking-gliding.