I have spent much of the past week avoiding the rays. I still possess that British instinct to sit stubbornly outside as soon as there is a hint of sunshine, whether that entails freezing over a café table on a busy road in February or turning lobster-red under a midday summer sun, but these days I have to be a little more careful.

Since I became paraplegic, half my body no longer regulates temperature properly. This means that my legs don’t sweat and as a result I get hot quite quickly.

It’s probably no bad thing that I avoid hot sun, especially with Rosalie. It’s just a shame that I miss out on much of the traditional summer family fun that four-year-olds enjoy so much. I can’t get into a garden paddling pool without collapsing the side and causing a wave to break across the garden, replete with surfing toys and howls of disappointed children. Swimming is possible, but the first time I tried to hold Rosalie in the pool, I sank like a stone (I can “tread water” but only if I have both hands free).

The ocean is impossible, as even the smallest swell is enough to toss me around like a sock in a washing machine, before filling every item of clothing with copious amounts of sand. Sea-water is also rather hard on a wheelchair, and mixed with sand it can result in moving parts no longer functioning.

Then there’s the paddling pool in the local park. I’ve always been a little suspicious of these, as there’s usually at least one toddler with a soggy nappy round his knees, surrounded by others gleefully spitting water at each other.

If I’m on my own with Rosalie it is not a place where I can feel safe and in control. Pools are inevitably slippery places, and I’m hardly in a position to leap in to pluck a concussed child from six inches of water.

No, hot weather is limiting, and water fun is out. Except that just down the road from us is a playground with a shallow dip containing jets of water of different heights. There are no steps to negotiate, and the children run in and out of the water with squeals of delight. Maybe it’s time I got a water pistol . . .

timrushby-smith.com

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