The Swimmer Cambridge

After a successful winter of monthly swim-run adventures from London's head to toe with The Swimmer, the latest installment heralded the start of the summer school trips - this time to the pleasant environs of Cambridge, where we'd had a most jolly of jollies almost exactly a year ago.

In contrast to the increasingly large London contingents, this was a more intimate affair of 12, made up almost entirely of Brockwell Icicles - hooray - including a rare appearance from chief mischief maker Sara, plus of course the inimitable John of The North - hoorah!

All aboard the 08h15 from Kings X platform 4...

Alighting in Cam we were greeted by Swimmer regular (not to mention PHISH relayer) Simon, kindly providing support car services for the day. So bags in the boot and off we trot for a mile or so to the hallowed river spot of Newnham Riverbank Club, a NAKED swimming club <prudish gasp> which you access by an unobtrusive wooden door at the end of a grassy path tucked away at the side of a field.

Emerging into a little wooded area just within the door, we were relieved to see the blackboard proclaiming balmy water temps (in view of the long swim we had planned for later).

Phewf

Past a little shed and out to the verdant river bank, handily divided into sort of changing areas by a series of low (and not particularly dense) hedges, the grass cool and springy underfoot like a carpet. As the five of us girls retired to a secluded spot to change for the first swim, we seemed to arrive as if with one mind upon the excellent idea of embracing the club values and leaving swimming costumes behind.

Hee hee

Barely (haha) able to contain our glee, we threw caution and clothes to the wind and made a dash for the river bearing only our Swimmer hats, entering the water by a handy set of steps a little along from where the boys were changing and partially screened by some nearby foliage. You could almost hear the gasp from the boys' camp as they realised "the girls are naked!" and then rapid retreat and conferring about how they would respond to this opening gambit. By this time we were safely submerged and having the highest of high times among the gorgeous silky water.

20 seconds later we were treated to the most hilarious nude dive show in single file (us girls raising a hearty cheer each time a luminous white buttock arced across the sky), followed by some truly shameless but commendably synchronous surface dives with inevitable effect of new potatoes bobbing to the surface of the pan. Such madness, such joy - a swim I will never forget.

Those of a prudish disposition look away now... Otherwise guess who?!

Ne tush pas

After all this excitement we were clearly in need of sustenance. So with clothes (sadly) back on and a spring in the step of one and all, we set off for the 1.5 miles along the river to Grantchester Orchard tea garden for enormous warm scones and a pot of the good stuff.

We discussed optimal methods for dealing with irate swans having spotted a nesting pair on the way down, who can apparently get a bit touchy this time of year. Will advocated the waving-arms-in-the-air and making-yourself-look-as-big-as-possible method, but Sara and I decided keeping your arms out of sight would probably be prudent, as that's what they like to break isn't it? 

Mad as a hatter

With light rain falling outside and a somewhat autumnal feel to the air, an element of collective procrastination set in as were contemplated the 45-minute swim back downstream to the swimming club, which last year had proved rather challenging in the final minutes as shivers set in.

Nothing for it but to man up and get changed in the gravelly carpark (naturally) - all of us coveting the one wetsuit of the party, brought by prudent Sarah (not to be confused with miscreant Sara) - before a quick dash across a cricket pitch and to the river once me we go. Marcus was very, very keen to enter at precisely the same spot as last year but an inopportunely placed swan had other ideas, and soon made it clear that we would just have to settle for a few yards downstream.

Off we go, the intrepid 12, the river and surroundings mostly empty of people on this grey Saturday morning, beautifully peaceful and sort of conspirationally cosy down here below land level. I settle into a steady front crawl, admiring and occasionally crashing into the surroundings, smiling to myself when I turn to breathe and find a cow perfectly silhouetted on the bank. Magic.

I'm somewhere in the middle of the pack. Rounding a bend I sense something is amiss and look up. Shock horror! For as we had feared the male swan is seething mad, puffed up as big as a house, gigantic and terrible, bearing down like a thunderbolt on little wetsuit-clad Sarah even as she tries to swim away. Panic and mayhem! Jonathan is already on the riverbank having encountered the swan before the rest of us caught up, Liz is trying to extract herself from the feathery fray and god bless Will as he takes on the adversary and puts his arm-waving theory to the test. The swan, while not exactly cowed, is given pause - time enough for all of us to make a speedy exit and regroup on the bank, shaken but no arms broken. Yowzers!

Knowing when to admit defeat, we scampered along the path in dripping togs and sploshed back in at a safe distance, soon arriving at our destination with a (misplaced?) sense of triumph.

Another gentle jog for a couple of miles along the scenic 'backs', then last swim at the rather excellent Jesus Green Lido, which is long (100 yards) and narrow to mimic the nearby river, swan-free and sunny. Result!

  

DING DING - LUNCHTIME! Here comes the sun, here comes the beer...
Epic scotch egg for Marcus - good enough to make a grown man weep apparently:

John and Marc share a special moment

And good god but if it isn't WORLD GIN DAY!! I'll drink to that:

After all of which you could have knocked me down with a feather.

The February Swimmer

At last, the second Saturday of the month was upon us - time for the February edition of my raison d'etre: The Swimmer.

Weather forecasts had not been favourable, with Met office warnings deteriorating from "Be prepared" to "Panic". Yet arriving for the meet-up at Hampstead and 7am yesterday morning, I found conditions pleasantly light and mild, like a posh olive oil. The Swimmer clearly has friends in high places (maybe Swimmer regular Rev Graham?) as - once again - the sun did make itself to shine upon us.

This month we were about 20 in total and, while I've greeted the swelling attendances of recent months with pleasure and misplaced pride, it also felt good to be back to a more intimate gathering as in Swimmers past. Moreover we had 8 whole women, quite the coup for equality.

Fluoresting

Just time for John (of PHISH relay team fame) and me to show off our fancy new footwear...

... and then we were off to Hampstead ponds - women actually heading to the women's pond this time, my favourite of the three bathing spots.

The sense of peace and seclusion at this beautiful pond fringed by trees, with the winter sun gently breaking through and the occasional mallard sending a ripple across the surface, is certainly worth getting up for. Sorry boys, but the ladies pond is best.

Swimming selfie

I was out the water last and so for one glorious minute had the whole pond to myself. They say the best things in life are free: on this occasion it cost me £2 which I consider a bargain.

Note the contrast of social behaviours between our idyll of taste and tranquillity and the display of macho tomfoolery at the Men's pond, expertly photographed by our own correspondent, Peter:

Next we hoofed it over to Parliament Hill lido to catch up with the boys, Liz going for a great new look to save time on changing in and out of kit:

Just time for a quick and steely swim at PH lido, admiring the light shimmering off the metal lining.

 Oh and possibly the best selfie to date:

Peter by Peter

And a someone-elsie:

Me by Peter

Onwards and steeply upwards for the obligatory photo atop parliament hill:

Who guarantees Swimmer sunshine? Rev Graham of course!

Then a lovely run through Hampstead, Regent's park, Marylebone and Hyde Park, with me and John almost keeping up with the 'elite' runners of the group (see pic above), presumably thanks to our shiny new shoes.

Not in service

Jeopardy awaited us at the Serpentine in the form of five or six sturdy swans prowling and prowling about in the swimming area, no doubt dying to break all our arms at the first provocation.

John executes a flawless dive

My version slightly splashier

I gave the swans a wide berth and enjoyed a wonderful lap in the sun, the water refreshing but by no means too cold, probably a good degree or two up on last month I'd say.

Marcus makes a new friend

Al fresco changing

Dressed and mostly dry, we gathered in the serpentine carpark for a refuel - this time by what was practically a Swimmer bake-off, with gingerbread from Swimmer co-founder and today's support driver Jonathan, chocolate cake with a tequila glaze (no doubt inspired by last weekend's exploits) from Liz, and my attempt at Anzac biscuits (which seemed to have aspirations to become cakes, but still did the job), plus stacks of sweets and a suspicion of tea.

Liz with 'tequila glazed' expression

Our very own gingerbread man

An intimate moment

...And another

Will staves off the cold with some techno dance moves

Poolside Percy Pigs?

Our blood awash with sugar and our bellies afull with cake, we staggered on for the final 10k leg to Brockwell.

YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY!!

I confess the sight of Harvey Nichols always makes me acutely aware of my dishevelled appearance and unique odour of sweat and duck poo I'm probably emitting, but that's half the fun of this part.

It wasn't until Battersea bridge that some dark thunderclouds drew portentously in and the first few spots of rain began to fall:

By the time we gained the south side of the river a proper deluge was battering down, visibility poor then very poor, all the way to Clapham.

Much more exhilarating than drizzle, and really the perfect time for the rain with the end relatively nigh. Putting on a final burst of speed we arrived triumphantly at Brockwell lido just before 11... only to discover that Health and Safety had reared its ugly, safety-hat-clad head and decreed that the pool would be closed until 11.15 owing to a thunder clap at 10.30.

Cue 15 mins of disgruntled muttering...

..then a jubilant release and stampede out to poolside:

  (Me: "It's like the sale at Harrods!" A lady: (pause) "No it's not")

Three delicious lengths for me, cold water perfectly soothing tired legs.

And yes, of course, hallowed poached eggs at The Lido Cafe, with prosecco and beer to show due respect to the occasion.

Thank you Will, Jonathan and The Universe for another wonderful and joyous morning of swimming-running heaven.