Swell ladies

I regularly see Caroline-the-Matchmaker and her friend at the Forty Foot. They are as colourful as their swimming hats. 
Today I could resist no longer and asked if I could get a shot of their distinctive headgear (apparently the coast guard helicopter can spot them from 18 miles away) 
Caroline-the-Matchmaker asked me (again) if I was French and told me (again) that she has a house in France and spoke some hilarious French (the enthusiasm makes up for a lot of approximation in anything to do with grammar or vocabulary). 
She then assumed a much more serious contenance and asked if I had a wife or a girlfriend. Apparently a friend of hers in Glasthule is a devoted francophile. She said she'd have to give me her address, to knock on her window. And she burst out into a loud, infectious fit of laughter before walking down the steps behind her friend and going head first into the not insignificant swell
It takes much bigger waves than that to stop Caroline.