They said the water would be 25 degrees – it’s 15.
Nobody mentioned the white horses out at sea that take on a sentient form, waiting to break before the swimmer is about to take a breath before rushing towards the cliffs to crash in a hiss of mirth at the unfortunate spluttering form left in the deeps.
And nobody mentioned the sight of John Coningham-Rolls in latex glove, Vaseline in hand which seemed to transport some members of the team back to better-forgotten schoolboy experiences consigned to the annals of memory by years of expensive therapy.
To read the full blog, click here.
Today's blog is bought to you in association with Pinky & Perky.