My first memory of a swimming lesson is when I was six years old. Our teacher had us all line up along the side of the pool with our arms above our heads, hands joined as if in prayer. On her order, most dived in. Those who hesitated were pushed.

In our family there's a game we play at times – a kind of 'name that tune' meets 'a penny for your thoughts'. It's about those songs that rise up from the depths of your mind, the ones you hum or whistle as

> I unhem creation a little, to work out the stitch (Vincent O’Sullivan, 2006 from the anthology ‘Are Angels OK?') You arrive in a flurry of hi-vis, and I picture how you leapt off your bike, docked it deftly and unbuckled your helmet as you ran up the