Some dippy tales around England

WOODHALL SPA. A well-kept secret The Lincolnshire Wolds are lovely. There seems to be only one or two roads to get there. But as there was no petrol on sale, there were few cars today and we sailed fully tanked up past the queues and were rewarded with the wide open vistas on all sides. It’s all a well-kept secret and with its broad lanes and sudden views over to the sea in the distance was made even better by being almost entirely empty. We stopped by the road in the sunshine. Then we saw a sign saying Woodhall Spa and so had to pass by, and were directed to the Lido. Yes it was open! And yes it was 28C. Warm enough to boil a potato! My thermometer said it was just 24C. We were told this was “ impossible ” by the life guard. “One degree less and they will all complain. Can’t be 24C, it’s 28,” she said, looking over at the kiddies pool with its gigantic coloured tap, pouring water down onto the heads of screaming two year olds and their mums. The cute pool and gardens are all a local

 Last Swim in the Lake It has been cold recently so as I walked to the lake I wondered if it would be my last open water swim without a wetsuit for the year.  As it happened it was a windless 16C and not as much as a wavelet to disturb the glassy surface. After I strode in, ripples rolled away like an LP record expanding outwards heading for the other end 400m away. I leant back into the water and tasted the clean cool water, a shock that never fails to remind me of Stamford Hall swimming pool where we used to go as  children,   There are three swans there now in a family group and they watched me suspiciously as I quietly swam up to the dead tree into the sunset. The sky was a deep blue changing to a silvery yellow, with all shades in between, so each little LP groove reflected one colour of the sky above me, making a kaleidoscope of lines in front of me towards across the setting sun.  I turned around and swam into the shore again and the water had turned to impenitrable jet black. I

  LAST GASP of SUMMER   Nearly halfway through September and so cold last week we had the heating on for a few days. But the sun has come again and temperatures rocketing for a few days so we went to Holkham Hall beach. Swimming in a lido is invigorating, and going to a lake can be peace-and-medidation, but nowadays going to a beach in the sunshine can be frenetic. Excited people were intent on making the day fun, (and  it was no surprise that the first car-park was already full at 11am) and a throng of people were walking the kilometre down to the low tide of the North Norfolk coast. It's perhaps the best beach in England. Easy to get to but no buildings or roads and every visit there a symphony of light, it being one of the few beaches that face northwards.  It all belongs to the estate of Holkham Hall and everything is correct, tidy and efficient, if a little costly to park. But no-one bothers about money anymore not having spent any recently, and who knows what the winter to co

Parliament Hill Lido  Hampstead. 17C. Unheated. 63m long.   We had to wait, whilst something happened in the Lido between sessions, when we arrived early yesterday for our reserved slot.  Not that it mattered as there really were only a few there. Perhaps 25 swimmers. Divided into 10 lane churners and 15 larkers  by which I mean groups of small boys and girls taking turns to push each other in and make a great noise.  It was built like many Municipal Lidos were, around 1938 and there were proud rows of photos of the opening scenes back in the day when the Local Authority had august figiures to give speeches and a Municipal Band to play "excerpts from 'Beauty and the Beast' all afternoon." It was made of dark brick with metal windows.  All square and functional. Parks and Recreation style. The Corporation Crest still adorned one end of the pool.  And the clock, now restored again, gave dignity and discipline to the whole pool. It was all clean and tidy. Apparently &quo

 Margate Sea Bathing Walking over the low cliffs of Margate one comes onto the sight of Walpole Bay Sea Pool, suddenly right below you. Laid out as big as an athletic stadium. In the seaweed-covered rocks between high and low tides, it looked darned cold in the blustery, spitting, Thames estuary rain.    WALPOLE SEA POOL   But there did seem  to be ten or twelve swimmers around the broad pentagon of concrete walls that surround it. Though being so big one could miss a few. Simply spotting the lonesome afficionados either dabbling near the iron runged entry ladders or lunging in front crawl in dark wetsuits in the dark green water was hard. It's gigantic..  We changed on the sand, balancing on one leg, as people do in such circumstances, holding towels around us, stepping into clingy swimming costumes and then, for women, further wriggling and  contortions to prevent the merest sun beam of vision to escape to the watching hordes above, ready to be shocked or offended by a glimpse of

PELLS POOL LEWES   Taking a train down to Lewes seemed a better idea than a fractuous drive down the busy Brighton M23.  So much better to stroll over the road from the station and through lovely Lewes, on over the hill to the park and 'Pells Pool', the oldest lido in Britain. 1860 A famous elegant flint wall hid the pool from sight so we walked confused around the perimeter once before returning in time for the padlocked metal doors, that had blocked it on our first lap, to be thrown open and the nice life-guards, cashiers and cafe workers there to be prepared for our arrival.  What a nice sight it was too. The sun came out and glittered off the sparkling wavelets, and the shouts of little boys jumping in and out, and then in again, made it one of those pools where fun is still the overal intention.   One or two people stroked self-consciously up and down in the natural spring water, today around 17C, but there was plenty of other space for the other 12 of us as it's one o