I look at them. The couple look like they’re in their 30s. The man is uninhibited. He’s muscular and suntanned. His wife, or girlfriend, is gorgeous, with long curly hair. She is clearly shy. The little girl, who has inherited her mother’s curls, is running around, slathered in sunblock, naked.

I sigh. I know what she wants to understand. The subtle variations in the dress code, and the reasons behind them.

‘OK. The woman is beautiful, but she has had a child, and she is afraid her body is not as attractive as it once was. She is wrong about that, but she’s going to cover it up anyway. Her husband or partner has not suffered the changes brought on by childbearing. His body has not been forced out of shape, his joints have not softened, his pelvis has not expanded, and he has not put on loads of weight that he has then had to lose through radical dieting. He’s had it easy. He still looks pretty much the way he did when he was a teenager. He is confident about showing off his physique.’

‘But she must have mirrors in her house?’

I laugh. ‘Yes, no doubt, but she sees what she wants to see in them. Not what is there. The same is no doubt true of her husband, but in his case he thinks he’s more beautiful than he is. It’s all a question of confidence. Our perceptions are coloured by our feelings.’

‘Sometimes I think humans do not see what is truly there at all.’

‘I expect you’re right, dear. Anyway, finally, the child is allowed to run around naked because she is very young. She can do this on the beach and in the company of her parents. Nowhere else.’

Winifred says nothing, and this time remains silent long enough for me to fall asleep.

When I wake up, I find somebody has put up an umbrella to shade me. Winifred no doubt. I get out of the chair, and look at the sea. I’m going swimming. It would be a waste not to.

I change into my swimming costume, and as I am about to walk down to the water, Winifred reappears.

‘You are feeling brave, are you?’

I laugh. ‘Yes, a little. It’s too inviting. I have to get in, even if it’s just for a minute.’

We walk together to the water’s edge. I walk in. Winifred doesn’t come with me.

‘Can you swim?’ I ask.

‘No,’ she says.

‘Would you rust?’

‘No,’ she replies. ‘I am watertight. But I do not float. I could walk into the water, and continue to walk under it on the sea floor. It would serve no useful purpose. And it might draw attention to us.’

‘Swimming serves no useful purpose for me right now, but I’m going to do it anyway.’