So there I was, in a surfing shop (which, the staff assured me, supplied wetsuits for the most generous of sizes), in a changing room with a large rubber wetsuit. ‘The trick is to put it on like a pair of tights,’ they told me.In the midst of predictable noises and mouthings off, I realised I had an outsize chance of overcoming the challenge if I removed my right leg from the right arm of my opponent. Minutes later I stood smiling at the mirror, in arguably the only garment robust and determined enough to compress me into reasonable shape.
Not to be outdone in the silliness ranks, at the beach, my son, surprisingly bright when push comes to shove, was attaching his body board leash to his left ankle, advising me to do the same. Actually, the leash – for stopping the board being buffeted away in choppy seas – goes round your wrist, I told him, amazingly unsmugly, but not without some laughter.
He managed better than I did, in catching the waves. I spent most of my time trying to stay upright and avoid swallowing salt water.
Croyde Bay, north Devon
On the way back to the van as darkness fell, I saw something spooky in the distance - a full length wet suit suspended from a porch, swinging around demoniac-like in the wind.
Sleepily yours
Jane
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