My favourite swims are the solitary ones.

Broad, peripheral absorption with the present moment.

Being here connects me cycles and networks of life beyond the man-made environment of my flat and its surrounding streets.

We are vindicated in our decision.

The wings are such an effective sail that the cormorant is almost blown off its perch.

“What you think is a problem going in, is not a problem anymore.”

Swimming in the sea feels spiritual in a different way than swimming in ponds.

The sun and the sky and the branches of trees newly decked with leaves are exuberant.

The rain has turned into miniature snowballs, delicate hail.

Everything softens and blends.

This piece of semi-wilderness persists amongst the brick and concrete of London.

The pond is empty and a perfect mirror of the vegetation and blue sky above.

The two new swimmers from last weekend are swiftly acclimatising.

We have had the wildness we need to justify a lazy rest of the day indoors.

Being naked outside and not caring what others think of your body, daily, must do something to counteract the ceaseless, corrosive effect of the media and Western beauty culture on body confidence.

One of my best friends came to visit today.

I feel hardier than I did this time last week.

We will sleep well tonight.

We make ‘Sunday swimming’ a reoccurring event in our diaries.

“As long as you don’t do a really big lap, you’ll be fine. As long as you can swim.”