There was a heavy swell at Falmouth’s Gyllyngvase Beach yesterday morning and a goodly number of swimmers were standing at the water’s edge, wondering whether to commit.
It would be fine once you were through the breaking waves, some of which were head height, but that was the challenge – getting in and then, possibly even more hazardous, the getting out again.
It was all about timing – anticipating the big ‘uns and the gaps between them.
Age had something to do with it, too, as I discovered in a cute little bit of chat with daughter Lisa, while we were still in the dry on the beach.
As we ummed and aahed about doing it, I said something like: “Even though you’re now 42, there’s still a paternal protective instinct in me; I’d feel responsible for you.”
To which, slightly hesitantly, she replied: “Well . . . yes, and I’m feeling that way about you, too. Not being unkind, but at your age I’m worried you might not keep your balance so well in these waves!”
Touché, I guess.
Anyway, we did go in – of course – and, aided by a running commentary from Lisa, this 74-year-old, minus his spectacles, did live to write this blog!
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