I was looking for something to read this morning and I stumbled across a book by Billy Connolly, Tall Tales and Wee Stories. I've probably read it before but it'll do at a pinch. I suppose I've always been a fan. On one memorable occasion, he was visiting Tasmania and Marilyn and I went to see him perform at the Granada Tavern. We laughed and laughed, like everyone else there but the highlight of the evening was as we were leaving. On the way to the carpark was a lighted window and, behind the glass, in all his naked glory was Billy getting changed. Was it all part of the act, I wonder?
I must be getting old because I can't tolerate his gratuitous foul language any more but there was one chapter in the book which brought back memories - a chapter entitled A Swim in the North Sea. In 1950, before we came to Australia, Mum took my brother and me to visit my father's family at a fishing village called Johnshaven in North-East Scotland. My memory insists that we had fine weather all the time we were there and, apparently, I decided I wanted to have a swim in the North Sea. In front of Uncle Alec's House was a tiny rocky beach where we would take the plunge. My swimming costume, like Billy's in the book, was navy blue, knitted wool with a belt and a pocket. My tender feet struggled over the rocks as I took the plunge ... and retreated swiftly back to the shore. I couldn't have imagined how cold it would be. There were probably icebergs floating just over the horizon.
I still have a pebble from that beach sitting on my desk, brought back by my brother from a trip many years later.
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