In ice water. But you can't go to the sea and not swim. Or such is my life philosophy anyway. Which is why I stripped down by the shelter of the sea wall and, fortified with coffee and donuts, sprinted for the horizon in nought but board shorts as the wind whipped across the beach front of Barry Barri. And on the way I thought, 'What softies these Brits are. Huddled in their coats on a glorious sunny day such as this, with the sea calling right there in front of them.' Such thoughts carried me over the shale, down the wet sand, and leaping over the first small waves before collapsing, gasping into the larger break. And then, as I left the water, mere moments later, and was applauded off the beach by a local, I thought, 'maybe these Brits do know what's going on. Maybe they have it figured out. Maybe it really does make sense to wait until April to go swimming in the sea.' But then, as I stood basking in the sun, towel wrapped around me and feeling the icy hot tingle all over my skin, I rescinded the last thought.
Turns out I was right after all.
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2 comments:
only you can make me miss such fool hardy shenanigans
some say you're mad. i just say you're crazy.
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