It has taken me a long time to get back to swimming - I used to spend hours in the sea, lunging through the waves like a skinny eel - I was nervy boy, living in Malta - my dad had been posted to Fort Saint Angelo - I learned to swim in Balluta Bay - I can still remember how my dad slyly slipped away the rubber ring -
We would sit upon the rocks, under a flawless sky - the white stone houses, with their shapely balconies, were silent and mysterious - the huge grey ships were anchored in the Grand Harbour - after swimming, in the evening, we would snarf luscious slices of cheese cake in Toni's -
But later, returning to England, I stopped swimming - I became shy and awkward - I struggled with my towel - I folded my arms across my chest -
Only after my time in the Endoscopy Unit did I, at last, stop being self conscious - gentle nurses would help me with my gown - pop onto the table, pet - sleek tubes would delve inside me -
So now, I strip off shamelessly - I swim as often as I can - a favourite beach is South Beach, Studland - the soft sand is overlooked by gentle trees and ferns - at high tide, you wade out for hundreds of yards - yachts and powerboats are moored just offshore -
You swim under clouds as big as aircraft carriers, over silky ribbons of seaweed - you feel all of the selfishness and cleverness slide out of you, washed away by the forgiving sea -
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