My friend Sue telephones me to ask if, instead of just meeting for coffee, I might like a swim first. I can't think of a better idea, given the sweltering weather.
simply ages since I've been swimming. I thought we might fit in a swim last time I went on a Nanna visit to see the (Not So Very Little) Welsh Boys - I even bought myself a new swimsuit, my old one having surrendered to the Curse of Chlorine. As it happened,
it's still waiting for its first dip and now seems the perfect opportunity.
I fail to mention to Sue in advance that, when it comes to swimming style, mine is best described as "stately." As in, slow. Not
just slow, to be perfectly honest, more like dead slow. In the days when I was a member of a health club myself, spending happy hours swimming up and down in my ever so stately fashion, I had the lifeguards in a permanent state of alert in case I had actually
drowned, so slow was my progress.
On our way to Sue's health club, gratefully armed with a guest pass, I admit that, while I love to swim, I am not very good at it. "Nor am I, not really," she says, consolingly.
I fear she thinks I am just being modest...
Oh, the delights of an outdoor pool on a hot day! The joy of sitting on a sun-bed, drying off after a dip, knowing I can slip back into the cool water the moment
the heat overwhelms me. As I swim (in my fashion, in my way) Sue half-swims, half treads water by my side so we can chat. Every couple of lengths, I suggest she sets off for a few lengths of "proper swimming" while I bask like a seal in the coolness at one
end. I tell her about going swimming with grandson Jack, where we each swim at our own speed - Jack covering at least eight lengths to my one - knowing that sooner or later, by the Law of Averages, we will find ourselves at the same end and can indulge in
a little light conversation.
Sitting over a coffee after our swim, I find myself thinking that this afternoon has been just like being on holiday. For health reasons, Mr B and I are not able to go on holiday
this year - but it occurs to me that, with just a little bit of imagination, we can enjoy lots of holiday moments without ever leaving home.
That was yesterday. Today we took the mobility scooter down to the
beach. We had a picnic on the prom, scooted along the pier, bought ourselves an ice-ream each. "It's just like being on holiday!" I told Mr B, waving one arm airily in the general direction of the beach where sun-worshipping families were spread out on beach
rugs and littl'uns were splashing in the shallows. Every day, for the remainder of the summer, we are going to magic up a Holiday Moment. By hook or by crook.
All I need is a little dash of imagination.
And some sunshine.