Boxing Day Dip

NB: We are aware this doesn’t fit with our “Year Travelling” theme, but it was a challenging way to see out 2017!

We were on the Isle of Wight over Christmas: a whimsical land where tradition does not involve sitting by the fire eating chestnuts, but rather insists upon throwing yourself into the icy depths of the Solent.

The previous year, I was on my period with nothing to wear. Jonny dived in, solo, in his undercrackers. After losing a bet in Ireland, he also had to drink an entire pint of Guinness out a reindeer hat (don’t ask). When he returned from the waves, freezing, wet, sticky and smelling like an old sea-dog, I felt proud but also a bit jealous.

This year, armed with a tampon and a flamingo costume, I was ready.

Jonny retained his reindeer hat for the occasion and we lent my brother another festive fedora, this time sporting a penguin. In the name of tradition, we also brought a pint of beer to drink out of the hats before we went in (interestingly, the beer is not drunk - as one might imagine - from the head-hole, but rather by sucking upon the fibrous pompom at the bottom. Although slightly hairy, the experience is not entirely unpleasant). With some Dutch courage warming our bellies, we went for it.

The icy sea is up to our thighs before we process, “Holy shit it’s cold,” and it is only when we get past the tummy-threshold and actually throw ourselves in that we realise we can barely move and our breathing is raspy and shallow. Everyone’s laughing and screaming, and it’s sort of brilliant and horrible all at once. But mainly horrible.

Getting out was the worst part. Or at least, it was for me. Jonny seemed to manage it alright and Oli strolled out as if he was in the Bahamas. Perhaps it was the penguin atop his head which inspired him to move as adeptly through icy waters as the ubiquitous bird of the Arctic.

I, on the other hand, was a flamingo. Tropical shrimp-filled streams I can do, frigorific oceans I cannot. (NB: I like ‘frigorific’. It is a perfect combination of ‘fridge’ and ‘horrific’, which just about sums the whole thing up). I fell over countless times and, where flamingos are said to stand on one leg, it took me four as my papa kindly allowed me to use him as a human crutch back to dry land.

Overall, I’m glad we did it. We said a sorry farewell to a now rather sad and gritty looking flamingo costume and a beery penguin hat, both of which had been a source of much amusement over the last year. However, it was in the name of a good cause (raising money for the Isle of Wight charity PATCH), and definitely woke us up after a boozy Christmas. You never know, we might even do it again next year, though hopefully in warmer climes!