We had a wet start for a belated celebration of Joan's birthday with Alex, Sara and Joan baring all, a neoprened Paul Winter and Domino manning up the land-crew on his rusty bike in a non-assuming pair of yellow lycra racing shorts.
A fly-by of 10 cormorants battling the wind cleared the clouds and we hobbled down to a rough sea under blue skies.
Crashing rollers made getting in quite tricky. Joan kept disappearing beside me and then bouncing up through the foam laughing like a schoolgirl.
While I was plucking up courage to get my shoulders under, Paul Winter's torpedo whizzed past me and up the shingle at about 90mph. He claimed it was a porpoise.
We all managed a few strokes between body surfing and tumbling. I was tied to a dead man floating, idly wondering what was going to happen next when a herd of white horses came galloping towards me. They ripped off both my swimming costumes and spun me like a sock in a washing machine.
Brilliant!
We stayed in for around 20 minutes. Back on dry land we enjoyed generous helping of carrot cake and Joan's famous mushroom flapjacks, followed by an impressive 13 cormorant black arrow fly by. (Editors note: just to clarify, those present did not eat the cormorants).
Joan's birthday limerick
There once was a swimmer named Joan,
Along Saltdean shore she would roam,
She'd meet friends on the beach,
Flashing boobs and bum cheeks,
Together they would frolick in the foam
(The Water Weasel).
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