The fear of getting caught

Over dinner last night, Tooli suggested that the best way to start the New Year was with a Splash!

I contemplated how well Beewriter always looks for her chilly dips, and said "yes" immediately. 

The evening progressed with multiple glasses of wine, and chat, and games  (and me not being allowed to post on Social Media my hand, in Cards Against Humanity - because it was a racist hand - I thought that was the point of the game).... 

When I woke at 5 this morning, I felt like crap.  

So I went and got painkillers, and slept again til 8.30 when I checked that Boy was up to take his class. 

I woke again at 1230.  Not feeling any particular eagerness to move, but I remembered our promise, I remembered that this was the First, and I reckoned there was nothing for it but to move.   Everyone seemed a bit surprised by my announcement we were on the move. 

No one was seeing me in a swimsuit on 1st January... So leggings and a tee did.  The kids were braver... Swimsuits abound. 

The beach was soooo busy.  We marched with purpose from the car, laden with dressing gowns and towels and binbags to protect the car on our return. 

We hit the beach and I just went straight in. (See Extra) marching with purpose, ignoring the loss of feeling in my toes.  

I got past the Fanny Pain point, and then hit stones.  I don't do stones.  We weren't on the sandy beach part - the whole beach was jumping with folk.   

As I turned and came back to shore, away from the pain of the stones- the kids were plunging in at my back.   They all did amazingly well plunging under the water with the minimum of squealing. 

The cold was something to behold though.  The pavements were icy - Arran had a good covering of snow.  Car Temperature said 3degrees.    App tells me that the water temperature was 9.   I can believe it. It definitely felt warmer. 

And then we came home.  I contemplated my hangover.  And now I'm sitting here at the computer, contemplating my bed.  

Just for a nap you understand.