We went down to the beach for a final swim yesterday. (It wouldn’t surprise me if the Resident IT Consultant pops down this morning as well, but I will be far too busy refuelling the broom and packing my books. And stuff.)
The sea was mirror calm, which is not natural at that time of day. Later, in the evening, yes. But it looked great; smooth, pale grey water meeting pale grey sky.
The water was clear. So clear I could see the tiny plaice scuttling out of my way, hopefully to a safer place. (That’s because I wear glasses, even in the sea. Without them I’d see nothing.)
Which, I suppose, might have been a good thing. I’m used to topless. After all, this is Sweden. Not quite so used to people wearing nothing, like the woman sunbathing a few metres away. But thank god for books! She had a book. A very strategically placed book.
(It made me think of an early episode of NCIS, where a witness mentions her concern over tan lines. Like Agent DiNozzo, I don’t spend much time thinking about tan lines, however.)
I don’t like the word bathe. But if the sea is involved, it is better than bath. One year we went out for a walk immediately on arriving. Met people we knew, who wanted to know if we’d had a bath yet. It took everything I had not to reply that I generally have a shower. Because I knew what they meant; had we been in the sea yet?
As for this year, I’ve had my last bathe, unless a miracle interferes with my plans. Actually, I don’t have time for miracles.