Grateful: Day 23 - Poooooooooooooond

Pond, pond, pond, pond, pond, pond, pooooond. Pick a tune. Sing it. It deserves a tune.

I went back to the pond today, full of excitement and trepidation, fully expecting to freeze. It was a marathon to get there, too. No 20-minute train like usual, but over an hour of busses, tubes, busses and walking. Already, coming close to Hampstead, I'd started to smile.I randomed across the heath, taking the long way to take it all in. I had a hat and gloves because I was cold. The heath is sparser than when I left it, but still full of colour and that rich autumnal smell.

And then the pond. What a bliss.

And the ladies - I walked into the changing rooms to a warm welcome and a bag of compliments from a range of women in various states of undress. Even before so much as a toe had touched the water, I felt like I was home.

Thank you to Jane Shallis (whose name I believed for a long time to be Chalice - I must use that name in a book), who lent me her neoprene wetsuit gloves and told me to fill them with warm water first. The water was 11 degrees, but didn't feel as cold as I'd expected and it welcomed me in like an old friend. Not even the slightest temptation to squeal.

And the first thing I saw when I was in - the heron. Proud and statue-still. He didn't move so much as a feather for about three minutes, and then he moved his head, just to prove he wasn't a garden-centre fake.

On my second lap, I saw something I've never seen before - the heron scratching his ear with his foot, like a dog does. I've never seen him do anything so graceless before, but it was very pleasing.

Swans have moved in. Two adults and a grey-brown teen. They stay at the far end (which is now much bigger than the bit we can swim in). Good job really. It's all very well coming across the odd moorhen, or even the hilarious pop-up shag that visits in the summer and appears out of nowhere after diving for fish, but a swan would be quite intimidating.

But then I think of lovely Jochen Zaeschmar in New Zealand, who swims with orcas. That inspires me every time I think about it. He's swum with them in the dark, when they are just occasional wise eyes and flashes of white, great shapes in the water with fabulous presence.

Ruuuuth, Ruth, Ruth, Ruth, Ruth, Ruth, Ruuuuuuth. Sing that too.

Picture this. Two ladies, related, both in swimming costumes and neoprene gloves, one wet and invicible, immune to cold, one dry and still shivering, greeting each other with kiss on the cheek. She went into the water, I went into the shower.

Breakfast with Ruth. Cereal, crumpets and hungry conversation. It's only been two weeks, but it seems like such a whole aeon since we saw each other. We played at sorting out her computer. I don't think it worked, but it felt useful at the time. And it was so very nice to see her.

Then a walk to the heath to meet Catherine, but first, a coaching call with the brilliant Sarah Dawrant, who has been so much a part of the incredible journey I'm on at the moment, and to whom I am hugely grateful. From in front of Kenwood House, I saw a huge tree next to the lake, rich green, tinged with red all down one side. I had my call underneath it, with gulls on the lake behind me and a rash of dogs all around.

A truly fabulous, challenging, rich call. Nature plays around me. I feel like a delusional person, thinking that this whole environment is supporting me, and it is... it dances and barks and blows and screeches at all the right moments.

Catherine Semark was a gift. A long walk on the heath, in and out and round and wandering. Deep conversations, thorough exchanges, energy and goodness. And then a feast! We had a proper feast in Kenwood cafe. Two sausages each and a mountain of vegetables followed, after a pause, by dark chocolate cake and frivolous blackberry mousse.

The Polish (?) food man seemed so happy that we were excited about the sausages. He tried to control his eyebrow. No luck. Later, on the coffee round, he called over from the till as I stood in the queue - what do you want? He left the till, made my two coffees and carried them back there, charged me and promised his name and address was on the till receipt.

A ride all the way home, more conversation, coffee and then blogtime. Brownies, oatcakes, soup and company. And now a violent Cohen Brothers film.

Oh, oh, and yesterday's British Airways flight announcements were done by the only non-native English speaker on board - a Spanish flight attendant. Absolute gold dust. Brilliant.

I love that I get to play with all these lovely people every day.