swimming
On this day last year I swam at the dam, according to this blog.
Today I'm in Edinburgh, at Portobello beach. The sea here is grey and much colder than the dam, and nobody sensible swims in it. I stood with my feet in it for as long as I could.
Lucie sat on the sand with Pavla asleep on her chest. Callum bought chips. A man with a dog asked where I was from and I said Brno, and he said, "Ah, Kundera," which nobody has ever said to me before in my life.
Sunday, the twentieth. I checked.