and is pretty keen on wild swimming

Despite my name none of my ancestors were seafarers. They all lived inland, working the land and later the mines, weaving silk and baking bread. But the sea has always had a massive grip on me, I loved childhood trips to the seaside, playing "I can see the sea!" games from the back of the car. Never mind the weather once we got there I'd been in my bathers and down to the sea. I think I learned to swim in the sea but I can't remember actually learning, I could just swim. Mind you I was a particularly buoyant child. There I'd be bobbing about in the waves while Mama, Papa and GlamourPuss shivered up on the sand. The latter most likely fully dressed and possibly in scarf and gloves too. Don't get me wrong, we had nice summers but my dips started with our first outing of the year at Easter, no matter how early it fell. In the summer Papa Starke would join me, and in the heat wave years, GlamourPuss could be persuaded but woe betide getting her hair wet. Our one full family trip abroad was revelatory. The sea was warm with no waves! It was the Adriatic where even Mama Starke was persuaded to get her bikini wet. It was nice but...

It didn't have the breakers I'd played in at Rest Bay in Porthcawl or my favourite Rhossili on the Gower. I loved the out of control feeling I got from the waves deeper out. I was much more adventurous in the sea than on land. Swimming was the one sport at school where my build and ability met. Friends of the GlamourPuss had a caravan at the seaside and a boat and water skis. Can you imagine my ten year old indignity and jealousy at being left out of her holidays with them, why didn't they invite me too?? It was almost as bad as not going to see The Osmonds, when I was the massively bigger fan and so much more likely to marry Donny.

I moved to Scotland and for a while didn't really realise that..I lived..beside the sea. And then I did. But back then the local beach wasn't so appealing for a dip and I rarely had the chance to travel out to the gorgeous beaches of East Lothian. When I did, even on the hottest day, the chill of the North Sea came as a bit of a surprise. I stayed and got older and much, much wimpier. Years passed and I barely dipped a toe in.

The urge never went away though. I still felt the same excitement at any glimpse of the "proper" sea. I made my first trips to the Med. It was sparkly and blue but like the Adriatic a bit tame.


Another first, this time inter continental travel. If I'd known that our flight to Curaçao included a touch down at St Maarten (in a 747, look for the videos) I might have had qualms. It was great though and gave me my first view of the Caribbean. Now that was proper sea, but warm with fishes. Every morning we got up early and had a good long swim before breakfast. One day with Mr Starke busy conferencing I decided to swim out past the very small headland into the next bay. For the first time in years I felt the power of the sea. And realised how small I was and probably invisible to boats and jet skis. I'd lost my childhood bravado and turned back, but I returned later with Mr Starke and we did it together. Arriving on the neighbouring beach felt like a proper expedition.

Curaçao

Last summer, Australia. I squeezed myself into a wetsuit and tried snorkelling for the first time. Not holding my breath was a challenge at first but once I got then hang of it, wonderful.

Yes that is a shark but a tiny harmless one

 

Autumn 2012 we welcomed our new arrival, Dogstarke and she has proved herself to be a salty seadog and loves swimming too, but she likes to have company, so I've done a fair bit of paddling. I expected to do some proper swims on our holiday to Ile de Re this summer but all the best beaches had signs a bit like this

 

 

 

 

 

And it would have been mean to go in on my own, so we stuck with (tri)cycling

I felt cheated though. I really wanted to swim in the sea again. And then we had a heat wave. Cue more paddling at our city beach. It was a bit murky to risk full immersion I thought. Masterstarke did and came out strangely tanned -was it a critical mass of FakeBake precipitating out? A better bet on a gorgeous sunny day was Kingsbarns in Fife. There the water was clear and very, very cold. Full immersion but only a few splashes and I was out. This seemed ridiculous, I've got more blubber now than in my chubbiest youth, why couldn't I stay in longer? WasI just becoming a terrible wimp? Does 400 miles make that much difference to the temperature?

Last weekend I got my answer. It's not so much the latitude as the longitude that counts. We were enjoying ourselves at Portavadie on Loch Fyne. I had a paddle with Dogstarke and wanted more. It was gorgeous, a little pebbly on approach yes but really, "lovely once you're in", I even liked the feeling of the seaweed between my toes. My only disappointment? I failed to persuade Mr Starke to join me. I couldn't really complain, he was skimming stones for Dogstarke.

Loch Fyne at Portavadie

 

So it seems that the west coast, washed by the Gulf Stream is warmer. Perfect for swimming? And the midgies can't get you offshore.

I'm off to Skye soon, hopefully I'll be able to test my theory there.

 

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And the occasional ice cream

If you saw me you would guess that I'm no stranger to a square meal. I love food and all its accompaniments. I spend a lot of time thinking about it; my most reliable memories of any occasion are what I ate and what I wore. It's a family thing. I call Papa Starke and he tells me what he's cooked this week, Me and Mr Starke still go back to the restaurant where we had our first date (though at the time we didn't know that's what it was). After a picky start in life, Master Starke was described as having "a canny appetite" admiringly by the waitress in the GNER restaurant car. The Glamour Puss is an aberration but Prof. does his best to corrupt her.

As a child I was (too) well fed, Mama Starke cooked every day; we all had our tea together when Papa S. got home and then on Tuesdays he cooked when Mama went out. I particularly loved the sweet stuff and though I wasn't allowed "trashy" i.e. cheap chewy or hard sweeties I managed to keep the dentist busy with my diet of "pop", biscuits and home baking. This was South Wales in the seventies so our raw materials were limited, strawberries and cream were usually tinned and as we didn't get a fridge freezer until I was seven ( the box made a brilliant slide down our steep back garden) and a shop with a frozen food department 'til I was ten, ice cream was most often a take away treat not a dish eaten at home. My favourites then were "Funny Feet" and when I was flush with pocket money a "Heart". Both of these are long gone and were possibly at opposite ends of the ice cream on a stick spectrum. The first a highly synthetic confection, in the shape of a comedy foot complete with smiling face and in a chocolatey flavour, the latter more sophisticated, a dark chocolate heart around vanilla ice cream with a red ripples at the centre. There was another with red jelly inside but I can't remember its name.

As an adult I'm not a massive fan of ice cream, it's never my first choice for pud, all too often it leaves a nasty after taste but I still love the idea of ice cream. I'm a huge sucker for the image of the Passeggiata; strolling around late at night with an ice cream. Summer hols this year were on the Ile de Re, based in St Martin where there just happens to be a famous ice cream shop (or artisan glacier if you're being posh) La Martiniere.

 

Caramel fleur du sel/ nougatine and crunchy bits of caramel - yum!

Even on the colder days there was a queue. I liked wondering at the flavours, although Poppy? The only poppy product I could think of was far less innocuous than ice cream. And then Schtroumpf, that means Smurf doesn't it? and it was blue, poor little things.

I've just checked the website, it doesn't list poppy (Coquelicot) maybe that was just my feverish imagination; also the Smurfs are in a sorbet not an ice cream.

 

Back home we've been enjoying gorgeous weather, last weekend we were "doon the watter" in Rothesay. There the local ice cream also has a famous name, Zavaroni but comes in one flavour, vanilla but a variety of presentations. For the record Mr Starke favours the "99", me the double nougat wafer, did I mention I like my food???

I don't have any pictures of those, sunshine and holding Dogstarke's lead made photography tricky but here's Rothesay and old and new ways of getting there.

Calmac ferry and the Waverley at Rothesay pier

Looking quite Mediterranean

Last night back home we went out for a drink and stayed for dinner, at a restaurant not some unsuspecting friend's house. And how did we finish our meal? With the ideal dish for the undecided, Affogato, as our waiter observed, coffee and dessert together. Vanilla ice cream and espresso, perfect. Sweet and bitter, just what I liked about those "Hearts" back in Wales.

 

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And sometimes retraces her steps

But not very often, I'm scared of spoiling happy memories. So it was unusual for me to make a return visit to two restaurants on one holiday. Good or bad? We'll see

Walking around a slightly damp St Martin on our first night I'd been tempted by Le Tout du Cru tucked away down an alley marked Cinema. It was bustling and seemed friendly but it was more than bustling, it was full and we were too hungry to wait and didn't fancy a "carry oot" so went elsewhere, but I'd really liked the look of it so we went back the next night. On a Sunday with most weekenders gone we didn't have a problem getting a table, not even with Dogstarke. Mr Starke had oysters, I had another speciality Fagots, a cross between a terrine and faggots but served cold. Despite the name there were some hot fish dishes and fish soup. The food was all great, the retro decor worked and there was a family from central casting at the next table. I was hooked and wanted some oysters for myself so we booked ahead for our last night...

 

And so to a pretty lunch spot, again away from the popular harbour area, sort of stumbled upon and then recognised as somewhere that had been recommended. It was guarded by this one

But he deigned to let Dogstarke stay. We had salads and wine and coffee and I was tempted but didn't succumb to the puddings.

There was a brocante next door, and plenty inside

 

And so to returning, we did first to Un Air du Famille. Which was still friendly and welcoming, still full of lovely bric a brac

and still serving the same menu, which wasn't quite as appealing in the evening, though this time I did enjoy a pudding. We had a good time, it was good value but not quite as lovely as it had seemed first time around.

Our last night and back to Le Tout du Cru. Again very welcoming. Again no change to the menu; the same "specials". Oh dear. But I shouldn't have worried too much. The oysters were superb, so was the mackerel and there was the added fun of watching a very large sports car trying to turn around in a very small road. We had a lovely night.

So should you go back? Perhaps...but it will never be the same. Though different can be better.

 

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