Got all greased up for my swim this evening. Well one arm did.
In case my rampant daily intake of food (two breadrolls, half a quiche and a token salad for lunch alone) doesn't yield enough blubbery insulating protection, I'd read that grease might help. http://soloswims.com/grease-baddeley.htm
Remember when Frankie Vallie sang "Grease is the word, is the word that you heard; it's got groove, it's got meaning; Grease is the time, is the place, is the motion; Grease is the way we are feeling"? Well, he was wrong. I'm not doing grease. I'll just have to eat more.
Not sure how the gym pool cleaners will feel tomorrow about the residue of my experiment...
Wayne likes pork pies and Guinness. He likes routine and predictability. He loves his family. He's 40+, short(ish), balding and battling with waistline expansion. He's been known to occasionally play a good round of golf, likes to tinker with 'stuff' and has rescued a group of friends from the African wild by fixing a Land Rover with a jellybaby.
He's never been a great fan of physical exertion. In short (apart from the jellybaby incident), Wayne is an ordinary person. And he's about to do something really amazingly, astoundingly and astonishingly extra-ordinary. He's going to swim the the treacherous, never-been-swum-before channel between Kintyre (Scotland) and Ballycastle (Ireland). For charity. This is his story.