I STARTED looking for somewhere to swim in London three or four years ago. Somewhere outdoors, preferably a little bit cold and with little to no chlorine, which can do no one any good.
My introduction to it all began in the River Isis in Oxford during my days at university (disclaimer: Brookes). At the weekends, groups of us would cycle through the city’s golden streets and stagger down grassy banks, squishy underfoot, and into the water, much to the annoyance of practising boat crews, before drying off at a riverside pub called The Perch. In London however, unless you know what you’re doing or want to tempt fate and cholera, the River Thames is best left well alone. For a while, therefore, it looked as if I was going to be forced to swim in one disappointing leisure centre after another.
‘For me, it’s a solitary pursuit. It’s dreadfully boring for people to hear why others do it’
Until that is, I heard about The Swimmer —a half marathon-length swim and run event, held every autumn through London’s parks, ponds and outdoor pools, inspired by John Cheever’s 1964 short story of the same name (www.above below.sc). I cannot run and so had, and still have, no intention of taking part, but for those tempted, I am reliably informed that there’s a jacuzzi at the end and plenty of bacon butties. Instead, I shamelessly stole The Swimmer’s rosta of locations for myself, including Hampstead Ponds, Parliament Hill Lido, the Serpentine and Brockwell Lido (the latter has an excellent cafe, too).
Denne historien er fra May 05, 2021-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Denne historien er fra May 05, 2021-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
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Save our family farms
IT Tremains to be seen whether the Government will listen to the more than 20,000 farming people who thronged Whitehall in central London on November 19 to protest against changes to inheritance tax that could destroy countless family farms, but the impact of the good-hearted, sombre crowds was immediate and positive.
A very good dog
THE Spanish Pointer (1766–68) by Stubbs, a landmark painting in that it is the artist’s first depiction of a dog, has only been exhibited once in the 250 years since it was painted.
The great astral sneeze
Aurora Borealis, linked to celestial reindeer, firefoxes and assassinations, is one of Nature's most mesmerising, if fickle displays and has made headlines this year. Harry Pearson finds out why
'What a good boy am I'
We think of them as the stuff of childhood, but nursery rhymes such as Little Jack Horner tell tales of decidedly adult carryings-on, discovers Ian Morton
Forever a chorister
The music-and way of living-of the cabaret performer Kit Hesketh-Harvey was rooted in his upbringing as a cathedral chorister, as his sister, Sarah Sands, discovered after his death
Best of British
In this collection of short (5,000-6,000-word) pen portraits, writes the author, 'I wanted to present a number of \"Great British Commanders\" as individuals; not because I am a devotee of the \"great man, or woman, school of history\", but simply because the task is interesting.' It is, and so are Michael Clarke's choices.
Old habits die hard
Once an antique dealer, always an antique dealer, even well into retirement age, as a crop of interesting sales past and future proves
It takes the biscuit
Biscuit tins, with their whimsical shapes and delightful motifs, spark nostalgic memories of grandmother's sweet tea, but they are a remarkably recent invention. Matthew Dennison pays tribute to the ingenious Victorians who devised them
It's always darkest before the dawn
After witnessing a particularly lacklustre and insipid dawn on a leaden November day, John Lewis-Stempel takes solace in the fleeting appearance of a rare black fox and a kestrel in hot pursuit of a pipistrelle bat
Tarrying in the mulberry shade
On a visit to the Gainsborough Museum in Sudbury, Suffolk, in August, I lost my husband for half an hour and began to get nervous. Fortunately, an attendant had spotted him vanishing under the cloak of the old mulberry tree in the garden.
