As I write this, I feel euphoric. I've just emerged from the sea, off the Suffolk coast at Aldeburgh. Yes, it's May, but the North Sea's never as cold as you think it's going to be – or, I admit, as warm. Nevertheless, from April to October you can easily immerse yourself in it for minutes on end, without swearing. You don't have to breaststroke the length of the beach to experience the natural high. This morning I didn't swim anywhere. I simply plunged in, did a couple of hundred bicycle kicks and let the current take me as far as the north lookout tower, where I got out and strolled back down the beach to where I'd left my clothes. Is that swimming or cheating? Who cares? All I know is, it left me with a huge, renewed appetite for life, love, beauty, truth and, above all, scrambled eggs.