The Marlin Bar is starting to fill up with early evening drinkers. The sun has already set on another scorching hot Spanish day. I turn away from my beer and gaze over my shoulder across the beach. The sea is flat. Accepting the inevitable I kick my trainers off under the table then slowly unbutton my shirt.
"Back in a minute."
I cross the road past the huge inflatable Shrek head that swallows and spews out small excited children. At the shoreline the lone fisherman barely notices my arrival or departure.
The sky has squeezed out the last few drops of sunset orange in to the mar de plata (sea of silver), I can't make out where they both meet. I wade through the cool water until it's deep enough to swim then head towards the distant yellow buoy using my best frontcrawl. One, two, three. One, two, three. I feel free and full of the gutsy bravado that comes with late afternoon drinking. I could swim forever, Ibiza, Italy, Morocco, here I come. One, two, three. One, two, three.
A fish jumps out of the water in front of me and hauls me out of my swimmer's trance. I turn and face the shore. Shrek's head is now a small green dot in the distance. I suddenly feel sober, vulnerable and very alone. I swim slowly back towards the darkening beach.
"How was your swim?"
"Perfect."