I’m floating in the Indian Ocean. The water is like a mill pond. My head is back, my limbs crucifixed. I can feel the water lap against my ears and in the distance, above the water, children playing, a car roaring past, the faint duuf duuf of the Cottesloe Hotel.

The water supports my body. A posturpedic mattress. The sun, gentle as it begins its downward journey one hour earlier.

I am at peace.

And yet there is the faint niggle of disquiet. How long will my family let me lie.

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“Will you swim with us around the pylon? I don’t want swim on my own.”

“Oh alright then.”

How could I refuse? This is my perfect swimming environment. Still and quiet. No waves.

Bliss.