By the Water's Edge

          There were several ‘firsts’ for me last week: I watched a women’s football match; spotted a Muslim woman fishing from the water’s edge; and saw a woman in a ‘burkini’ at the swimming pool. Of the three, it was the second that most surprised me. Surely fishing is a bastion of solely male leisure activity (or should that be inactivity)? Okay, footie has fallen from its man-pedestal, but surely not fishing. Mind you, the fisherwoman was not alone – her family was there too and she may have been simply holding the rod while the man was otherwise engaged. Or I could have been witnessing the dawning of a family-friendly iteration of the sport of angling, following the trend set by the Lionesses.

          As for the lady swimmer in her modest, theologically-compliant ‘cozzy’, I have full sympathy. My friend and neighbour has initiated a WhatsApp group for the purpose of encouraging a daily dip in the sea. So far, there are four members, all of us men in our seventies, for whom a little encouragement in the form of peer-group pressure is sometimes just what we need. And, whilst our schedules do not often coincide, the last time they did I observed that my friend wears a sleek pair of shorts that are designed for actual swimming – unlike my own, which are voluminous, contain many pockets and are ideal for a day on the beach but, once wet, cling uncomfortably to the thighs and lose whatever sartorial elegance they might have boasted when dry. On my friend’s advice, I went to buy a pair identical to his (though a different colour, just to assert my individual style) and have since felt more like a fish in water than a turtle snagged-up in a plastic bag. With a little more practice, I reckon I might shave seconds off my time-per-length of the pool. (Incidentally, I have learned something else about swimming: there is another word for it – natation. I have never heard anyone use it, as it is Latin and largely redundant, though the phrase, “Fancy a natation?”, may well be common parlance in the Rees-Mogg household.

          Living by the sea has highlighted one of the consequences of climate breakdown that did not trouble me so much when I lived in Manchester – rising oceans. Now, the view from our window is tinged with anxiety about what we can expect to happen if the present languid tempo of carbon-emission reduction is not accelerated. Day-to-day, there is enjoyment to be had in this glorious environment – I have even engaged in some marine activities myself – but aren’t we really fiddling while Rome burns? Last weekend, thousands of spectators, many of whom paid good money to sit in an enclosure, gathered on Plymouth Hoe to watch Sail GP, an international race competition for high performance, F50 foiling catamarans. They go really fast and are crewed by men. Although touted in the advertising as “Powered by Nature”, there is a heavy coat of greenwash over this marine version of F1 motor racing. Yes, the yachts themselves are driven by the wind but they are made of carbon fibre, a material that no one has yet found a way to recycle, and the whole event is attended and enabled by a fleet of powerful, twin-engine motorboats. Events of this sort may be justified as a way of refining and advancing technologies that might provide us, ultimately, with some solutions to the problems we have created. But we might get a quicker, more relevant payback if we put the money into tidal-flow electricity generation instead.

          Alright, that may not provide spectator sport but, instead, races and competitions for kayaks, regular yachts and even paddle-boards could be scaled up a bit. Even if TV money would not be attracted, they would at least be more inclusive, family-friendly and environmentally harmless – and I might be enthused enough to cheer them on.