The morning swim

It was fresh, so fresh... Exciting! 

The afternoon swim on the other hand was a good bit less exciting. 
At the Forty Foot this time. And as I came out of the water, there was a walking tour in progress, all in Spanish. With about 20 middle-aged Spaniards in their arctic-grade goose down coats and hats and gloves and warm boots walking around the place as if it were a petting zoo. 
Laughing at the nutters in the water and having their photographs taken. 
Then it was decided that a group photograph would be a good idea, to show all these nutters to the mates back home. They all huddled together, blocking the way for the swimmers going in and coming out of the water. 
But there was a slight problem. The tour guide, obviously a perfectionist, had managed to get everyone in the frame but there was an issue: a middle-aged, overweight, semi-naked, rubicond Franco-Irish swimmer struggling to get back into his clothes was interfering with the integrity of the otherwise perfectly composed photograph, on the left-hand side. 
The tour guide asked politely yet firmly if he wouldn't mind moving out of shot and get dressed elsewhere. 
He did. 
And gave him a piece of his mind in no uncertain terms: "I swim here, I get dressed here. If you want a group photograph with nobody else within the frame come back at 3.00am" 

What a party pooper...