“Have you ever seen a human hot dog?” my husband says to my mother as he stuffs himself into his wetsuit. It is day two of our beach holiday, and while I destroy my calf muscles with a series of beach sprints, Gregory and my second youngest brother scour the ocean in search of tonight’s dinner. It is very indigenous of us - men the hunters, women the gatherers. They spear the mullet and whiting, and my mother and I head to the local supermarket to gather the fixings for a salad.
No sign of Gregory beginning his training yet, and I fear my quest may be sabotaged by the very people who are members of our team. Instead of organising a fat kids run in the cool of the early evening, my eldest brother hands my husband a beer and they settle into the sand to devour a bag of salt and vinegar chips. I will give them both until six months out and then the pressure will be applied…
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