THERE is deeply ingrained shyness and pessimism within me, that can only be cleaned by sea water.

Growing up, my confidence was any old horse, or my dog. When I went anywhere attached to them, it was like a superhero cloak.

Then it was my career; I had to talk to a lot of people every day that knew I knew a hell of a lot. Then other people read all I knew in the newspaper, and rubbed their chins, nodding.

For a while, my bike took over. A carbon fibre steed so strong we could tame mountains together. We were solid, and everyone knew it. That felt pretty good. Then everyone disappeared over the hill.

Now though, my power source, my sidekick, my confidence, is the sea.

I don’t remember not loving the sea. I remember being a poor swimmer. I remember the adrenalin of scared. I remember breast-stroking…