Taking the Plunge

We spent the afternoon on the beach. Philippa and her mates played with a childrens badminton set; I drank lots of water and sat in the shade. At one point I got chatting to a nice couple in their sixties who live in a cottage behind the dunes. At about three o’clock, they walked off holding hands and strolled straight into the sea up to their necks. I thought they were some kind of suicide pact but they just had a swim and then came out again. I was impressed, but couldn’t help asking “are you mad?”
“Oh, we’ve done it every day since the first week of May,” the man said, “it’s good for the circulation and is very refreshing.”
You know when someone says something and it seems like a really good idea?
I walked into the sea myself, at about quarter past five last night, and I wouldn’t call it refreshing.
I would call it ****ing freezing.

New job very nearly here then. I start in just 14 hours. That’s 840 minutes away, or only 50,400 seconds of freedom remaining. Sounds very OCD and anal, I know, but it’s an old habit of mine that I can’t shake off - counting down time until I start work. The difference this time though is that I have a lovely Monday evening with Philippa to look forward to, and that’s only 23 hours away, which equates to 1,380 minutes, or 82,800 seconds, so it doesn’t feel as if my life stops at 10am tomorrow.
Love changes everything.

RC 5-6-11