SAND, SEA AND A SAUSAGE TREE

“Big fluffy balls of cotton hung heavily in the sky”

I’d been roped into Swakopmund’s most absurd morning ritual. Admittedly, it was my idea, but fellow journalist Charleen Clarke, or Charlie, wasn’t letting me back out of it. ‘Come on man, if those grannies can do it, then so can we,’ she said as she stripped down to her cozzie, an emerald beacon in the fog. Shivering, I quickly followed suit and soon we were both sprinting down the beach towards the icy ocean.

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