the daily swim

I love to watch the sea, walk beside it, run along it, whatever the weather or time of year. I was born next to the sea in south Wales. I could see it from my bedroom window, could hear it as I fell asleep. The beach was where we played as kids but in the 20 years I lived there I never learned to swim and grew up, probably 'learned' from my mother, with a fear of water.

In my twenties I got to grips with basic swimming techniques and some years after that, when I was living in Kent, I spent a harrowing 8 weeks in a local swimming baths forcing myself to do mushroom floats (a full scale panic attack and running crying to the changing rooms at the first attempt) to try and get over my fear of being underwater. And I've come a long, long way from someone who couldn't even let the shower run over her face!

So why, since living 300 yards from the Mediterranean for the past 3 years, can I count the number of times I've gone for a swim on one and a half hands? Okay, I have been preoccupied with renovating a 4 storey villa during this time... but that's an excuse and not a reason.

A couple of reasons are likely:

1. The old fear is still lurking in corners and it flips me away from thinking about it, comes up with obstacles, reasons why not to, suggestions of other things to do.
2. I can't be assed.

But from today I will be assed, for at least 30 days. And there are no excuses. It's 28 degrees and blue sky and likely to stay that way for the next 2 months. I have guests for nearly the whole of this time who will want to go to the beach. Easy peasy.

Okay, there might be a few little obstacles to negotiate: the beach packed to its scuppers as le monde and his femme arrive on the Cote d'Azur towards the end of the month; the little jellyfish that make regular appearances in our bay; and rather more regular attention will need to be paid to the bikini line. But I am promising myself that I will do this.

Starting today.