I Plunge Into Cold Water

Here's the reservoir, nestled in hills above Church Stretton. This is what it is like at 7.30am in summer. The sky is blue but the water is cold. Occasionally there are two or three people already swimming, but there's room for me and LJ to teeter on the edge in our wet suit shoes, before taking the plunge.

The plunge is breath-taking, awakening, vital. It confirms my body to my senses, pushes the air out of my lungs and into a shout. The plunge is essential for what comes next - the swim into the meaning of paradise: a new day, everything freshly rinsed by night and dawn's caress. Birds skim the air, call to each other across our bobbing heads. We paddle the length of the reservoir, paddle back, return and turn until we feel the core of ourselves chilled like Chablis. 

To clamber out into the rough care of a towel, is its own pleasure. We talk of stitching two together to form individual changing tents like someone else's mother made years ago. Many swims into the season, and we haven't done it yet, but no matter. 

Back down at the car park, filling up now, we sit in camping chairs by the stream, breakfast on tea, hard boiled eggs, strawberries and banana bread. Not even the Famous Five ate this well after an adventure.

I can be back from the hills and at my desk by 10am on these swimming days, having taken the plunge, the waters, emerged from the vigour of a real paradise.  

I Enjoy The Memories

It's that time of year - the Edinburgh Fringe has been cancelled, but my mind is still drifting northwards and backwards. 2013. Threesome's first appearance on 10th August - we'd hardly written the script by 9th August, the same day I met Ms Beeton for the first time.  It's LJay's birthday today, so that has added to my nostalgia.  

And here we are, or were, outside the Word of Mouth Cafe,  highest numbered venue for that year ... left to right ... Ms Beeton, Someone's Mum, Jay Walker. 

I have the look of someone freed from the responsibilities of being any good at performance, and enjoying it.

The show was in 3 parts - I was the opener (or 'delicious entree', as described in one of our two 4 star reviews) with a piece based on the Seven Ages of Man speech from As You Like It. The Seven Rages of Woman is a poetic romp around ... well, some of the rage I felt about a restrictive evangelical upbringing and some of the rage I felt about the lack of representation of women in film, and several other rages,: approximately seven of them in fact. Listening to a sermon about women and submission yesterday, some of this rage was momentarily reignited.

Since this photo was taken, there have been new happenings: a beautiful baby for Ms B, glasses to correct my eyesight, a new suit and tie for LJay, and suchlike. But when I look at it, I enjoy the feeling I felt then, right then, at the moment Peter took the shot. It comes flooding back, the camaraderie, adrenaline, freedom, the reckless pleasure of the name of our troupe. And, as Ms Beeton might have said of her microwavable chocolate sponge cake (whose making was the pinnacle, piece de resistance, of the show), the feeling is marvellous, darling!

I Apply Another Coat

There's something sensual about applying emulsion to walls, covering damage with a paint close to the colour of farmhouse strawberry ice cream (the colour is the same as the one I remember from childhood, when I stirred my carefully allocated fair ice cream share around my bowl with a spoon and great concentration, to make a thick milkshake on a hot day). 

The chart's named the shade 'Calamine', and it also reminds me of the soothing effect of lotion on childhood insect bites and spots. Ahhh - chicken pox. A familiar virus. 

 One layer of paint is rarely enough to give a good finish, which I don't mind in relation to walls, but is a challenge in the case of my living room ceiling which is plain white, and a little too high to reach without a step up of some sort. I like to think I'm working out my deltoids, biceps and pecs as I hold paint overhead on brush or roller, that I'll finish the decorating with better definition. I paint white on white in imaginary squares, so that even when I can't see what I'm doing, each section gets its fair share.

 

As each coat goes onto the walls, dull biege becomes a more distant memory. I know that in time I'll add marks to this new pink layer - but for now, it's a creamy pleasure to sweeten all this time I'm spending at home.