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.
