Hi folks. I'm in a field in Sussex on a camping trip with my family and other people. I'm lying half in/half out of my sister's tent feeling a bit hungover. I'm waiting for a can of coke to be delivered. I've had about four hours sleep. Why am I always the last one to go to bed? The only thing that can sort me out is a swim, I am becoming obsessed with this fact. Luckily I have the legendary GF with me.
A quick drive down some A roads and some incredibly beautiful country lanes and we're at my destination in life. Barcombe Mills is very pretty, the River Ouse winds it's way from somewhere to end up in the sea somewhere near Brighton. Olivia Laing walks the length of the Ouse in 'To the River (great if you like Virginia Woolf). Anyway, the river is full of spring debris, pollen, blossom etc. After quite a lot of hesitation I finally summon the courage to leap in. Whoosh, I see the world bubbling above my head, rebirth. Maybe I will come to my senses permanently this time. I don't swim far, takes me ages to clamber out at the banks, mud oozing between my toes, yuck, I'm a rubbish wild swimmer.
We sit on the bank, GF falls asleep, I gaze at the green river. I'm not that bothered about going back in but I know I'll feel even better after another swim...
My legs in the photo.