I swam a lot while we were away. Always in the same sea, but every time it was different.
My first swim was on the Monday in the brown water next to Sizewell B nuclear powerstation. There was no one else on the beach, but James sat with the dog watching out in case an irradiated creature from the deep grabbed me. While his presence, to some extent, mitigates my completely irrational fear of imaginary sea-monsters I am not sure what practical help he would be, aside from witnessing events, if a giant squid was to grab a limb and drag me under.
Needless to say, despite the cloudy day, it was a brilliant swim and I escaped the clutches of the unknown unscathed.
On the Tuesday I swam at Dunwich Cliffs – over the next few days I swam there a lot, once on the Wednesday and twice on the Thursday.
The campsite where we stayed was right on the cliffs so the beach was just moments away.
The sea was blue and calm and if I looked to the left I could see the water outlets of the power station.
I also swam at Walberswick, a couple of miles north. Here the sea was green and full of jellyfish.
Lastly, on Friday I swam at Southwold. The sea was quite rough with crashing waves.
I bopped about for a bit and then a large wave crashed over me, hurled me onto the sea floor and dragged me along the shingle for a bit. I struggled up gasping for air and looking at my bleeding and bruised legs I decided I had been enough of a heroic wild swimmer for one day.