Steve reckoned I was a size 10 in a wetsuit; I said, 'I wish. No, I'm 12.'
He brought both so vanity demanded that I get into the smaller one.
At one point, if I'd been able to get it off easily, I would have given up and swapped but I decided the effort would be too great so braved it out. 'Um, Steve, could you do up my zip, please?' This was after Avril had tried and failed.
'Breathe out, shoulders back.'
Which was how I was for the next 20 minutes or so.
I waddled back to the sea front pulling at the collar to allow me to take in little but vital gasps of air and lasted the duration. The smile you see on my face in the previous post is that of a woman desperate to get back to the van to be unpeeled.
And the minor tremor felt in the Swansea Bay area last Tuesday was a result of me releasing my flab, flptt, flpppttt, pllttt, plltt.
But, hey, I got in a size 10 wetsuit!