The beach

First swim of the year today, the first of many I hope. Jesus, it was glorious. It was too sunny to stay in and do the things I needed to do – summer arrived Thursday and I’d been running around like a blue-arsed fly since – so I hopped on my temperamental steed and cycled to Flughafensee, beside Tegel.
I was only there in winter before and wasn’t even sure if it was the same lake, but it was, lovely, airport in front, forest behind. You could watch the planes taking off and landing from the comfort of the sandy beach and throw yourself into the water to swim. Swim! I swam, twice, good swims, great swims. I’ll go swimming again. It was refreshing to do something non-destructive for a change.
I lay on the beach and let the sun massage me. I skipped the FKK beach this time – I passed it on the way but was put off by a spread-eagled man with his scrotum looking up at me – and so opted for the safer option. One of these days…
The beach was crowded by Irish standards, sparse by local. Teenagers arrived on one side blaring some shite German rap. Rap is bad enough in any language but it’s even worse in German for some reason. Other teenagers on the other side, who’d been quiet up to then, responded with dance music. Thankfully they won, the lesser of two evils when you’re at a beach. I could actually have put up with either of them. My tolerance levels have grown.
I read my book about punks in the DDR and wished I were a punk. I always wanted to be a punk but never had enough strength in my convictions to make the necessary concessions. The punkiest thing I ever did was have my ear pierced and hair dyed when I was 17. Some punk I was.
It was good at the beach. Introspective. Sunshine. Warmth. Water. Outrospective too. I looked around at my co-conspirators, made judgments on them all.
I got a puncture on the way home. It was outrospective again. I forgot about being a punk and pushed the damn bike home.