Polar bear club

One of the great lies of this state is the California beach movie. The water off SF is frigid, colder than the UK thanks to a current bringing Arctic water down from Alaska, and swimming off the coast is almost guaranteed to bring hypothermia and bollocks that resemble half a walnut.

Nevertheless the sun was out and the beach called. We drove up to Stinson Beach (see photo) for some sun time and maybe a bit of swimming. The road there is one I’d like to drive in an MX-5 without a passenger – twisty, turny and with a sharp drop off to get the adrenaline going – but as chauffeur I took it calmly.

We got to the beach and enjoyed the sun for a while, then M announced she was going swimming. She loves the water and will spend hours in it. This love outweighs the fact it was bloody freezing, and she frolicked happily while I dozed in the sun. Then she came out and it was time to prove my manhood by going for a swim too. I was not looking forward to this.

I’m haunted by a horribly accurate routine Billy Connelly used to do about swimming in the North Sea, which is basically the Arctic Ocean by another name. You get in as far as you can but the worst moment is when it reaches groin height. You either get a slap of a wave to the happy sacks, or even worse it just rolls up your thigh and kisses the underside, leading to a tiptoe provoking wave of cold. But my woman had gone first – how could I back out. Besides, I promised myself I’d swim in the Pacific and now was the time.

The key to these things is getting it over with quickly. Wade in to sufficient depth and then just dive in and break the curse. Once you’re wet all over there’s nothing left to fear. Except the jellyfish, and the sharks. Thankfully there were few jellies around and they weren’t the stinging kind, and shark fins were nowhere to be seen.

The jellies were a bit of an issue – the mouth remained firmly closed and I blew air out of my nostrils when diving. I still have a nightmare or two about ingesting one of those buggers. Sadly jellies are becoming all the more common. Their natural predators, turtles and sunfish, have been decimated and now they are multiplying like rats.

So I did my swim, which wasn’t exactly enjoyable but refreshing at least. M went back in and stayed for half an hour, a fit of superhuman cold control considering how she complains about the temperature of the summers. We’re both water people, but I’m not a polar bear.

The end of the affair

Having very mixed feelings about New York – it hasn't changed, but I have and no longer feel the same way about a city that has been a passion of mine for a while.

When I first envisaged moving to the US, New York was top of my choices of places to work. There's an undeniable energy that comes from cramming seven million people into a tiny space, adding a dose of capitalism and pressing the fast-forward button on social evolution. It's a place where you can get almost anything you want whenever you want it, where the poshest shops share a street with scuzzy corner stores and it'll always be the the best place in the world for bagels and pizza.

But New York no longer has the same hold on me that once it had. I first came in 1999 and was entranced, and the city pulled me back again and again. It has a buzz like no other place, I've laughed, cried, loved and lost here and regret nothing, well, maybe one or two things but you know what I mean.

Maybe it was the oppressive heat and humidity, or the rudeness of people, or simply the fact that I've got older and softer, but I'm no longer so besotted with the place. M summed it up best - it's kind of like a relationship that once burned hot and hard, and has now mellowed into a sort of friends-with-benefits deal. I'll always be fond of the place, but now it's somewhere you visit, have a good time and then wave goodbye to. Northern California has won my heart now, although I'll always love the green rolling hills of Derbyshire.