The sea squeezes our chests and makes our skin sting

12th February 2024

This morning’s heaven is soft baby blue with strands of pure white cotton wool and a smiling winter sun shining through like a huge bright lamp designed especially to combat SAD.

At first glance, the sea is almost perfectly flat. Blue-tinged silver with tiny decorative ripples reflecting the rays of the sun. There is a wide, untouched strip of sand between the shingle and the sea. It’s absurdly lovely, waves ripple onto the beach with the smallest, prettiest frilly edges.

Rupert’s Mum is about to get in as the Canadian and I reach her little shingle encampment. She looks like a perfect amazonian mermaid in her wetsuit and waves to us, swimming slowly until we join her.

The beach temperature is between five and seven degrees, not warm exactly but not winter cold. It’s eight o’clock in the morning so we’re most likely to be at the five end of the scale but there is sun warmth which conceivably may deliver a balmy seven by lunchtime.

Five degrees is a ‘don’t hang around on the beach’ temperature, not the frantic frenzy, must be mad, are in fact mad, of the sub zero morning swims when the shingle is genuinely and thoroughly frozen, a state which to me seems implausible because of the shingle salt.

The wind from the west helps it be bearable. The flag looks completely west and almost straight out. The westerly has been tempered by the miserable rain from the rest of the country and by the time the wind reaches us, the clouds are empty. The rain has fallen, thank god.

We have enough to last. Ditches have been dug deeper, gullies cut against floods on the roads but the low fields still shine with silver puddles.

The boatbuilder pootles over the shingle and joins our little encampment. We change, almost in sync but the Canadian, still wearing only a cossie, has already charged in.

The boatbuilder waits for me while I fail to find a right and a left hand glove in my overloaded jumble sale of a swimming bag. I give up and wear non-matching ones, have the rest of my kit on and we go down to the sea together, him in only swimming shorts, with an occasional pair of gloves.

The sea temperature today is five point eight degrees. It’s really very cold. Get in and it not only squeezes you around the chest, but makes your skin sting in a way that feels quite scary if you’re not used to it. I make a noise to distract myself from the temperature.

Rupert’s Mum says that she’s spotted a seal close by while she was waiting for us. My mind is full of images of it underwater, very close indeed, ready to use its huge fangs to take a nibble of an uncovered foot that looks a little fish like. I switch my mind back to the puppy-faced cute seal image.

The sea is enchanting. Silver blue ripples, larger head-height waves that dissolve before they reach us. A shore line that is easy to navigate when, after not long at all, we make the decision to get out.

It is a perfect Monday morning. Not too cold getting dressed, chatting about our work days ahead.

Our valediction is comfort for those we love.