16 days to go!

The 20th of July draws ever nearer, and still the weather resembles what you'd expect from the Highlands of Scotland in November, not the garden of England in July. There was even hail in Clapham yesterday! If the forecasters are to be believed this coming weekend will be very wet...and so will the 22-26th. Perfect. Not.

Last weekend was yet another example of dreadful weather. It was cold, it was grey, it was windy and at points it rained. (You might think we wouldn't notice that in the sea, and that's partially true - but we do notice the accompanying increased darkness and wind.) After a night in the Travel Inn with mum and Bug (there were three in the bed, and the little one said...nothing, because he doesn't talk but my god he can wriggle), on Saturday morning I approached Freda, expecting a 5 or even a 6 hour target, and felt like a kid getting out of school early when I was told 4! It was not an easy 4. It was cold and unpleasant and fairly rough, but I got there. Afterwards, we went to Hubert House and mum had a lovely time chatting to everyone whilst I stuffed my face and Bug stuffed his face and the carpet.

Sunday morning the target was 4 hours again. There was actually had a smidgen of sunshine but of course it didn't last. And it was rough. Very rough. I usually hit 6 walls before I go in for the first feed at 2 hours. This time I only managed 5 walls, and even then was 10mins late for the feed. I also got flipped onto my back a couple of times, but I managed to survive the four hours. I don't usually mind the rough weather, but by the end of a total of 8 hours at the weekend battling against the wind and waves, I did start to get a bit fed up. I mean, I really must be due some good weather by now if there is any kind of karmic balance in the world.

After the Sunday swim, I suppose some gremlins have been laid to rest, but I do still worry about the cold - these swims are far from comfortable. Freda told me not to worry, since there wouldn't be that kind of wind on the actual day, but of course it still niggles. Still, I left Dover happier than I have been after the last few weekends. We had to go to Canterbury to pick up Matt, who did the London to Canterbury Tour de France stage through the Cyclosportive race. Two punctures, a tire blow out and 6 hours 50mins later, he finished - happy enough, since it had been a good steady ride for him (apart from the 45mins of phaffing with tyres). Matt and I had our traditional debate about who was the most tired on Sunday night. Unfortunately the answer was definitely not Bug, who had slept too much in the car to have any desire to got to bed. Can you remember not wanting to go to bed? I think the definition of being a child must be not wanting to go to bed.

I digress...anyway, 16 days to go until the official start of the tide. I'm fed up with all this training now, I just want to swim to France.