By: Blonde Two
Apologies for the overused homophone above but sometimes a Blonde just can’t resist!
Last year on the 29th April I went for a cheeky wild swim so this year when Mr Blonde Two read about someone wild swimming in a magazine and suggested that it might be fun, I knew exactly where to take him (no I am not going to tell you but if you read the rest of this week’s blog posts, you should get an idea).
It should be pointed out that last year, I managed exactly six strokes and one and a half minutes. This hardly constituted a swim but the water was so cold that it felt like a “get out or die” kind of situation. This year, either the water was warmer or I have been overdosing on adventurness and I managed to stay in for a whole three minutes and put my head under the water twice. This was a bit of a mistake because the water was so clear that I could see all of the rocks on the bottom and started imagining what was underneath them.
For those of you who remember last year’s attempt, there were a few changing issues with my micro-towel and its micro-ability for changing coverage. This year, I took a bigger actual-towel and managed a modicum of decency post-pool. I would like to apologise to the gentleman who was clearly out for a quiet perambulation for my uncontrolled shrieking as I entered the water.
Well done you! I have been in the sea many times this year but always in my super warm winter wetsuit! So to jump into a Dartmoor pool, which we all know is much chillier than the sea, and no doubt in a skimpy piece of swimwear, deserves a big pat on the back!!! Much braver than me! X
Stoicism carried too far is characterised by death. I have complete faith in both of you, including your joint ability to return from that Bourne for which there is no Hollingsworth (a complex wordplay based on a civilian’s knowledge of Shakespeare and an expert’s knowledge of London), but are you sure that that which departed this Vale of Tears would be atomically the same as that which returned. Just imagine – returning as a brunette. Brown Two – sounds like the sort of joke that gets primary school kids tittering with laughter.
I mention this because I concur with what Rach says about pools in wild places. On a very, very hot day I walked up to Goats Water, a small tarn in the Lake District between Dow Crag and The Old Man of Coniston (the latter being an eminence not a person) and decided to cool my feet. Close to the tarn edge was a large flat stone just below the surface of the water. Two steps and I was there, my feet cooling, and I was able to look up at Dow Crag where I once climbed when taking an OBMS course.
Afer ten seconds I couldn’t be sure my feet were still cooling. Or indeed that I had feet. Twas as if they’d been sawn off cryogenically; that I was – to misquote an old quote: footless but not exactly fancy free.
Transferring my experience to Blonde Two’s I wondered what it would be like if my hands suddenly realised they were the only living part of the former R. Robinson, the rest not being suitable for rescuscitation by microwave. Of course one or the other of you may have martyrdom in mind; if so always leave a note with instructions as to which saint’s name you would prefer. Phrygia at a guess.
Brown Two indeed, perish the thought (snigger, snigger). There is a Brown Willy on Bodmin Moor but Brown Two Tor on Dartmoor is yet to be discovered.
I will have to consult Blonde One on both Shakespeare and London. You have very big microwaves in Herefordshire, maybe something to do with being so close to Wales?
St Amalburga would be my choice but you may like to read a former blog post to see a few other options … https://twoblondeswalking.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=1177&action=edit (cut and paste I am afraid).