Last year, Whizz and I celebrated 25 years of marriage and I ‘celebrated’ the departure of 70 years of my life. To mark this momentous occasion, we used some of my dad’s bequest to invite close friends and family to join us for a week in a beautiful house in Devon, not far from Totnes.
The children pulled out all the stops, providing us with a chef for Saturday evening (thank you Horace), preceded by cocktails (thank you Horace and Kerching). The table was decked with vases of flowers, picked at a farm by the younger guests (thank you Mavis, Emma and Loz), while photos and fairy lights adorned the walls (thanks again youngsters). Horace organised stupid games and a quiz and the whole evening made Whizz and I feel loving and loved.
On one of our subsequent days, Whizz and I, Horace and Kerching, tried our first wild swim, in Foggintor Quarry. Three of us, intrepid in our ignorance, plunged into clear, ice-cold water, shrieking with shock, calling out that our legs ached and swimming joyfully, staring up at the iron-grey rocky walls and blue sky. Meanwhile, Horace hopped about on the rocks like a mother hen, panicking in case one of us had heart failure in the cold. Once she was convinced none of us had died, she joined us.
Whizz and I agreed that we would do more wild swimming when we returned home to Magicbunkshire but when we looked, it was hard to find a place as remote and private as that quarry. Eventually, a friend of Beamish (lodger) recommended some places, and, as a small step towards taking the plunge, Whizz and I visited a couple of spots to see if they met the brief. They were very pretty, quite empty, with parking nearby so we went to the pub and had lunch. First step accomplished.
Now, if it were left to Whizz, that would very possibly be the end of the exercise, but Lil (me) knows that if a task is to be completed, it must go into our shared calendar. Once in the calendar, it will be done – we are those people – or is it persons?
So, now, finally, I get to the point. Today, this morning, was THE morning. We set our alarms for 5am and I awoke, quite naturally at 4.45. This was a good start. No groaning and dragging myself from the depths of sleep at the insistence of my Apple watch.
I should mention at this point that Whizz has been getting fit at the gym. Every Tuesday and Thursday, he rises at 6am and is out of the house at 6.30 to suffer the pain and torture of muscle development. Her Ladyship (me again), luxuriates in the empty bed spreading out her arms and legs, starfish fashion, until he returns, showers, breakfasts and comes back to the bedroom to dress at about 8.30.
My point is that he sees the sunrise on these mornings, describes the beauty of the golden light rising behind the hills etc, etc. On the drive to our swim, we hoped we would arrive in time to watch together the sun rise over the water.
In the car, I was also thinking about something else, which I will get to later.
Although Whizz is built for speed and I for comfort, in life, my motivation is speed – get things done quickly, while Whizz is motivated by comfort – his comfort. I’m not saying he’s selfish, far from it. He looks after me and suffers greatly in providing us with an income. But when it comes to our personal comfort, I will plump (lol) for speed, even if it causes me a little discomfort whereas Whizz will always take longer over things to ensure he is physically and mentally comfortable. For example, I had my morning planned for a quick in and out of the water and straight home for a hot shower. I would wear my costume under my clothes, and my swim shoes (Skechers slip-ins to be precise) on my feet. I wore trousers that allowed me to remove them without taking off the shoes. After my swim, I would have a plastic bin sack on which to sit and my bath robe in which to wrap myself for my return home, still wearing my wet swimsuit. I did bring slippers and a towel for my wet feet.
Whizz, on the other hand, although also wearing swimming trunks, wore socks and shoes, bringing with him proper rubber shoes for the water, and a head torch. He would need to change shoes and find his head torch while I, with the knowledge born of 26 years of marriage understood that I would hang about waiting for him to be comfortable enough to go for it. I determined that I would remain in the warm car until I was absolutely certain he had organised things in the back of the car for his return and checked that all was well – twice. I was resigned to the fact that after our swim, Whizz planned to dry and dress before getting into the car. When I suggested he do the same as me and wear his dressing gown home, he said, I’ve never driven in a dressing gown. End of conversation.
Apart from thinking how romantic our swim would be, watching the autumn sun rise gently over the countryside, I was also pondering on the thing Horace had been worrying about, the heart failure. In Devon, there were four of us to manage any potential emergency, but today, unless some other mad person decided to get up at 5am on a Saturday morning, we would be alone. How would I tell the emergency services where we were while performing CPR on my dying husband (or more likely vice versa as he is younger and fitter than I). I shared this concern with my husband, and we decided to look up What Three Words, when we arrived. As least the ambulance would be able find us.
We drew up in the car park at 6.10am after a forty-minute drive. The area was deserted, and dark, very dark. ‘Hey, Siri,’ said Whizz, ‘What time is sunrise?’
‘Sunrise today is at 7.45,’ Siri replied, cheerfully.
Oh!
Our eyes were adjusting to the dark. The surface of the water was light, reflecting the sky, I suppose. We had come this far so we decided to carry on, after all, we had a head torch.
The spot we were in is designated for wild swimming, so a concrete ramp is provided at the edge of the river for entry into the water. We approached the ramp, feeling surreal. What on earth were we doing?
Holding hands, we stepped onto the concrete and took tiny steps down towards the water. I put a foot in the water. It was chilly – well that was to be expected. What was less expected was that the slope below the surface was incredibly slippery. If Whizz hadn’t gripped me, I, and my Skechers, would have slithered like a launching life-boat, straight into the water, bow wave and all. I turned sideways and the shoes gave a little more grip. Whizz, of course, wearing his proper shoes with knobbly soles, was more secure. Face to face, now and clasping each other with both hands, we side stepped further into the water, Whizz slightly behind to hold me up.
The water got deeper, up to our knees. Suddenly, my foot reached the end of the ramp and, expecting find the bottom of the river with my left foot, I stepped off. ‘
Waah! I’m in!’ I yelled. There was no bottom and I was treading water.
My legs immediately began to ache with the cold and my chest to tighten and, remembering Horace’s warnings, I became scared. ‘Get me out,’ I shouted, and with Whizz’s help, climbed back onto the concrete.
Meanwhile, poor old Whizz hadn’t even been in yet.
‘I’m going to give it a go,’ he told me and stepped in gracefully.
I was the one on the side now, worrying about him.
‘I’m fine,’ he assured me and swam off for a few minutes before he too climbed out, saying cheerfully, ‘I feel quite invigorated.’
Back at the car I wrapped myself in my cosy bath robe and laid the bin-sack on the seat, resigning myself to a wait.
‘I’m standing stark naked in a car park,’ Whizz chortled from beyond the tail gate as he dried and dressed.
We ate sandwiches and drank hot coffee then set off for the drive home. Soon, we turned towards Milton Keynes, onto to a road called Queen Eleanor Way.
‘I’m sure I’ve looked up Queen Eleanor before, but I can’t remember who she is,’ I observed.
‘Ah,’ came the reply, ‘She’s one of the Milton Queens.’
I’m still giggling. Whizz has some terrible puns in his repertoire, but this was one of his best.
We had spent 15 minutes on our swim and two hours in the car. As we reached home, the sky was brightening. What a romantic sight to behold: the sun rising,gracefully over the house, gently revealing the building site opposite our driveway.