Sunday, 26 August 2012


In the agonising static that is coming from the Irish Sea, frantic correspondence is happening between people across the world. Spare a thought for the long-suffering Bernie, who has put up with many disturbed mornings and late nights due to Wayne's training schedule, and now, sitting at the Command Centre in Bagshot with her two children, and not knowing what is going on as her hubby bobs around in his eighth hour in the freezing, jellyfish-infested, angry water.  One can imagine her anxiety - it came across heart-wrenchingly clearly in her most recent SMS:  "The next time Wayne comes back pissed from the pub with a effing map under his arm I'm booting him to the curb!!!"

No comments:

Post a Comment

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.