It’s been a wee while.

There was never a plan with this blog or with swimming or even how the mortgage is paid, (well, I think the only time I planned for anything was blagging my way through university to land an offshore ROV job) everything else kinda fell from a great height and smashed into place, it’s always been see what happens the morraw.

Anyway three years since my last meandering post and nearly ten years since I started regularly swimming ootside.

Recording adventures and posting blogs about my swimming obsession led to 40 odd posts (and received 14k hits. Bloody hell) and I even managed to tap out on ma phone two fictional stories both about 60k words each but the last wee while there hasn’t been much personal stuff recorded. Writing started as a way of getting in the water when I couldn’t get wet and felt it transmogrified into a way to encourage folk to swim ootside and experience the benefits that I had gained, but finking back it was mostly a way I could blether and let my ego enthusiastically mumble about my watery exploits.

Since the Rona lockdown gave folk time for reflection and a big kick erse to get ootside, car parks at swim locations are full to bursting and folk hardly require any more encouragement to get in the water. Am not saying this is a bad thing, especially for the nation’s mental and physical health.

I just quietly wish sometimes that they would go back to pre-pandemic activities and gie us awe piece, but that wee selfish desire doesn’t last long, like last year when Clare organised a surprise birthday swim celebration for ma 50th burfday. I was gutted when I arrived for a wee tranquilo Sunday morning swim and it was hotchin, bodies awe ways, but then they all started belting oot “happy burfday” and I was buzzin. We may dream of peace and quiet swims but a big bonus of this post pandemic drive to get ootside is there is more chance of a friendly smile, a chat and a hug. Years ago I could arrive at Loch Lubnaig during the deepest darkest wintery months, swim a solo 2.5km and go hame, the only interaction I had was when I fired a photo on the social media. Some of us endeavour for photographic evidence of perfect empty, majestic, tranquil swim locations, but I’ve kinda realised what makes a difference in my day and my life is to converse and laugh and receive big hugs. It’s not about finding watery limits anymore and maybe why there is less adventures these days to bore you with.

For a long time I struggled to leave my comfort zone of staying silent with a frown making up excuses to leave early. It’s easy to be welcoming to familiar folk but I’ve realised that a cheery coupon and engaging with strangers helps.

It helps me feel better 

Since early last year my life kinda altered. (That’s a slight understatement.) I packed in a job, got a wee bit spiritual, that lead to restricting my already restricted diet. To some folk it may look like putting a tourniquet roond ma neck to reduce the bleeding from a cut on ma stain brain masseeve heed especially with all my other bonkers diet restrictions, but after some finking and some yoga that lead me to try and not to harm animals, although hens eggs, sheep and goats cheese still play a major part, apart from those am just gonny be like like every bawbag vegyfunkwit and shout about only eating plants these days. 

It seems to help make difference in other folks life’s as well. 

Clevedon Marine Lake, fifteen minutes from our large worksite, has been an oasis. A 250 metre long swimming pool that receives nearly new water every full moon. On school holidays and at weekends when the young team descend it can bring chaos, I am positive I would have been a lot worse. Early mornings are more tranquil with quiet greetings and smiles, jellyfish and eels although in the warmer drier months it has been described as swimming in human soup. 

Sometimes a wee blether for five minutes helps us forget our worries and realise that life doesn’t have to be magical unicorns awe the time for us to count our blessings. A 10-minute dookin in the bleakest barren pond does that and having a chat compounds that life can be amazing even for a couple of minutes a day.

So nearly a decade of describing swims, mainly blah, blah, gumff, gumff, gumff, but in amongst the poorly edited self-obsessed meanderings there is the odd bit of evidence that might be worth reading, that trying to enjoy a day has led to me becoming pretty content. Am not saying I wasn’t leading a privileged life before I started swimming but it seems a wee bit more gratifying these days.

How has your life changed over the last decade? Have the twists and turns or in my case the splashing and dookings were what you imagined and planned for?

Since early last year my life kinda altered. (That’s a slight understatement.) I packed in a job, got a wee bit spiritual, that led to restricting my already restricted diet. To some folk it may look like putting a tourniquet roond ma neck to reduce the bleeding from a cut on ma stain brain masseeve heed especially with all my other bonkers diet restrictions, but after some finking and some yoga that led me to try and not to harm animals, although hens’ eggs, sheep and goats’ cheese still play a major part, apart from those am just gonny be like every bawbag vegyfunkwit and shout about only eating plants these days.

Anyway,  I had a few weeks spare for a solo cycling holiday which led to some mental swims and photos of my bike (that’s helping decorate this gumff) (Clare finks it was more a midlife crisis than a bike adventure roond the heilands and some of the isles). Then I accepted a job on a boat that turned out to be more of a research volunteer trip than paid employment. Which led to me going full corporate, at a time in life when most folk start contemplating retirement, I started my first 9 to 5 commuting gig. WTAF.

My commute these days is 400 miles down the M6 rather than to the airport and there are slightly fewer swimming opportunities. That’s not true, there are loads of swimming opportunities, it’s just that across the border, there is no right to roam and going for a swim can land you in a bit of bother. It doesn’t help that the rivers are now pretty polluted since the Boris believers chose to eradicate decades of European water standards. Feckin edjits.

So, eventually getting to the point of these ramblings. Below is a wee description of my regular swimming haunts over the past 9 months.

England.

Clevedon Marine Lake, fifteen minutes from our large worksite, has been an oasis. A 250 metre long swimming pool that receives nearly new water every full moon. On school holidays and at weekends when the young team descend it can bring chaos, I am positive I would have been a lot worse. Early mornings are more tranquil with quiet greetings and smiles, jellyfish and eels although in the warmer drier months it has been described as swimming in human soup.

A also managed a few swims in Vobster Quay during a course for work.

Wales

Just up the road from our digs. The affectionately known stinky pond has been a lifesaver. It took nearly 3 months and enough early morning light to find the courage to explore its private turbid depths. It has kept me sane and placed a smile on my face and a few visiting scientists and researchers’ faces. It takes about an hour starting at 0600hrs with a slow 2km uphill turbo shuffle followed by a 10-minute dip and a full-of-energy razz up through the ancient woods (that have swathes of bluebells in spring) towards breakfast as my headphones blast banging techno beats, I pause at moss-covered beech and oak trees and try to ground or restore much needed energy. This regular morning ritual leaves me laughing and buzzing off my tits ready for a day of Teams meetings and emails.

I only had time for one adventure into the Welsh valleys Boyo and discovered some quality waterfalls. A couple were worth launching off and one had a wall of water you could walk behind — pure magic.

Swimming makes me a better person, you only have to read some of the gumff from older getootside.com posts to discover how an obsession over the last decade has led me to appreciate life and it has enabled me to carve an unpredictable enjoyable journey which am pretty chuffed, not only have I recorded a decade of adventures but it has led me to meet and chat with hundreds of strangers I would never have encountered otherwise. Like a couple of weeks ago I discovered a new word from a random bloke who was busily drying after a swim at Clevedon. Have you ever heard or used the word “mizzle”? It’s like drizzle, a light damp rain but finer. I hadn’t ever heard of the word. Supposedly this dude’s mother-in-law refers to a dreich day with mizzle awe the time. This led to a great chat and a hug. Perfect way to start a swim.

Hopefully it won’t take another 3 years for the next installment. 

Swim safe. A try to