Cold water Lido blue.
Polka dot bikinis, sky high dives and red lipped kisses linger in Hollywood technicolour.
The fringes of a film from childhood.
Under a streaked grey moon-white sky.
The sun has caught the rain.
Gold cascades.
Falling on the fifth cold water championship's parade.
The marshals swarm in yellow bags.
Handing out towels and shepherding the teams.
The swimmers' extremities pricked pink with blood.
The announcer's purple shoes, pink socks and tweeds louder than his lip smacking, wise cracking, ear thwacking microphone banter.
Gearing up to the waters and a minute long swim.
Taking in breath, sharp and thin, mitigating against the risk of fainting during the sub zero swim.
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