We only seek out Firemore beach on a friend’s recommendation. And we are so glad we did. It doesn’t feel touristy in the slightest. It’s almost empty, just a couple with their dog and a family in the distance.

The sand here is tinged with red rather than the Caribbean-white we’ve come to expect, and it’s cross crossed in places with shifting patterns of yellow and white. It’s a long expanse of sand and sky and I realise, for the first time strangely, that the best beaches for me are the ones long enough to walk forever. This isn’t quite that long, but it’s a gentle enough curve, a far enough wander to not feel hemmed in.

A farmer drives his sheep down from one side and they flock across the sand and up onto the long grass at its back. There’s a central rocky headland jutting up from the sand, sloping accessibly enough to clamber on for good views of the twin bays either side.

The hills in the distance are bigger from the water. The waves are churning white, rocking up and down and up again. I kick and pull and watch my black gloved hands in the liquid before my eyes, the skin tinging pink, hairs bumped up.

I run out but miss the cold and run back in. Playing in the waves when the water is only knee height can be as fun as swimming. The beach is still quiet as I jump. And then I turn back to dress before I turn blue like the sea.

I’m raising money for the Alzheimer’s Society. Please sponsor me at http://www.justgiving.com/swimbonnieswim