THURSDAY

IT wouldn't be true to say I can't swim to save my life. In fact, that is apparently exactly what I can do. The head-out-of-the-water breast stroke that I can kind of do is what is known in the trade as a "rescue stroke".

The Park Hotel in Kenmare said it could teach someone to swim in a week. I don't have a week, so we're trying to cram it into a long weekend. I think they would have liked a celeb to come and do it, but they're getting me.

Given the turmoil in Dublin Airport, we keep ringing Aer Arann all day asking about our flight to Kerry and they keep saying that it's going to be fine and is leaving on time.

Obviously, I don't believe them. Typical of that Kerry crowd, I think. Conmen the lot of them.

In fact they're not lying. The flight to Kerry seems to be the only flight out of Dublin today that takes off on time. Typical of that Kerry crowd.

We breeze through the masses that've been here since yesterday, all of whom want to tell their tales of woe.

We feel slightly guilty but I keep telling myself that I can't let these people drag me down. It's not my fault that I only had to check in a half-hour before the flight and that I then just need to stroll through the Stygian horror of the wailing masses to hop on the plane.

The air hostesses are actually pleasant and good-looking and they give you a free paper. It is a tragedy that Ryanair is taking over this route. And I bet it won't be any cheaper.

FRIDAY

FOR an adult, learning to swim is about more than just learning a new thing. It is a journey into the heart of yourself, into the humiliation of being like a child again and making yourself helpless in front of another adult.

It is about confronting your confidence issues, your past, your relationship with your body, your relationship with your very self.

So I'm glad I'm doing it in five-star luxury with a state-of-the-art pool pretty much all to myself. And I'm glad I'm doing it with Marie Wade (that is actually her name -- Wade in the water) who affects a tough-guy approach but who is actually very sensitive to the fact that this is a difficult thing for adults to do. She is so sensitive, in fact, that she rarely discusses the riot of questions and emotions that all of this causes you to confront. She recognises the small triumphs and the moments of breakthrough and the little flashes of self-belief, but just about. This is Kerry and, thank God, we don't need to talk about our feelings too much. We just keep doing it.

Obviously, the first lesson is a deeply damaging experience. The front crawl feels completely alien and seems to have no natural rhythm to it and I am convinced I will never master it. Marie offers just enough encouragement without compromising her tough-guy image and is adamant that, although this is a challenge, we can do it.

But then we have the evening lesson -- and somehow, like they say about alcoholics becoming worse alcoholics even when they're not drinking, a few things seem to have fallen into place for me on dry land during the day. Marie seems vaguely proud of me in her own way.

The child comes down for her first swim, too. She seems to like it and kicks her legs in the manner of a small frog. As they don't quite say at maternity hospitals, father and baby are both doing well.

Following some traumatic locker room experiences as a young fella, I tend to hate locker rooms and that male sporty environment. I generally just use them to change quickly back into my clothes before going home to have a shower.

After Lesson Two, I am in there walking around in the nip with the best of them, feeling all male. I'm no Ron Jeremy but I have nothing to be embarrassed about either. But this evening I'm one of the lads, showering away in the locker room, waving it around and practically slapping myself with towels. I hasten to add that there is no one else in the locker room at the time. But there is always the chance someone will walk in. So it's a start. I have to admit, too, that the main reason I shower in the locker room is the very girly reason that they have gorgeous Espa toiletries in the showers.

I follow the lesson with my third three-course meal of the day. I have a tendency on holidays to turn every meal into a three courser. But this time I have an excuse. As I tuck in to my third extra order of bread this evening and the wife glances at me slightly disapprovingly, I explain to her that I am an athlete and us athletes need to keep our strength up.

I have also become somewhat of an anti-drinking crusader. I am presumably high on dopamine or whatever, so one bottle of beer generally sees me through dinner with maybe a single brandy afterwards to round off the night.

Tonight, the wife orders a half-bottle of wine. I mention she is upgrading from her quarter-bottle last night. They don't have quarter-bottles in this place, she says resentfully.

Drink on, I say, assuring her that I am not counting her drinks. It's different for me being an athlete but she can feel free to be a lush.

SATURDAY

LESSON Three at 8.30am and obviously it all falls apart slightly. Just as I was mastering the movement of the front crawl, we are introducing breathing into the equation and I am back to being a frustrated child. I also seem to lose my breaststroke mojo once she gets me doing that properly, with the breathing and whatnot.

Marie assures me it will all come together and instructs me to do two 20-minute practises during the day before I see her this evening. That will be nearly three hours of nearly swimming. I will need to up my eating. We go for breakfast then and I look for biscuits after my Weetabix and omelette and half a loaf of toast.

It's kind of funny being here with the child. I don't need to tell you that no more than learning to swim, having a child brings up all sorts of issues. In thinking about the things you want to teach her and pass on to her, you do a bit of an audit of yourself, too.

Being here in Kenmare, in the land of my ancestors, and surrounded by such beautiful but melancholic landscapes, I find myself thinking a lot of the things that echo down the generations. The wife comments that there is a darkness to the blue in baby's eyes and I find myself wondering if I would wish her to have that thing, call it what you will, the darkness, the appreciation of and indulgence of a certain sadness. I remember wishing I didn't have it when I was young, wishing things were less complicated. And I always remember my brother Brian telling me that you should never wish to be simpler or more like other people.

I think he's probably right. As much as I hope the child retains her happy, sunny little disposition, I hope she has that slight understanding of sadness and the still sometimes mind-blowing tendency to see the eternal beauty in melancholy. I think it makes for a richer, more real life and makes better people of us.

But I hope she gets her mother's hearing. I'm bad enough at the best of times but with all the swimming I think I would now qualify as legally deaf. That's the price of being an athlete. Or as I thought I said there, there's mice in the attic.

At this evening's lesson there is no doubt. I can swim. I don't quite believe it but Marie is categoric. I am swimming.

SUNDAY

THE wife thinks I look a bit toned. I reckon she's just feeling a bit frisky because we're in a hotel room and whatnot. I can now do a non-stop length of the 25m pool doing a proper breaststroke and the front crawl is coming together nicely too. I even ring about joining a gym near home that has a nice pool. I am completely losing the run of myself.

As I emote about this life-changing experience, the wife points out that I probably could have done it at the local pool. But she's wrong. I wouldn't have done it in the local pool.

Any adult who can't swim -- and there are loads of us out there -- will tell you that. It's a difficult enough thing to confront and you need your circumstances to be almost perfect. I did it this time because my room was a two-minute walk down the corridor from the 25m lap pool in the Park so it was easy to get up off my ass and practise. I did it this time because the pool is beautiful and stainless steel and Germanic and because there was rarely anyone else in it and if there was, they were minding their own business.

I did it this time because Marie made it easy and ensured I didn't feel foolish. I did it this time because I was in the lap of luxury. It sounds lazy, but I would not have learnt to swim without the supportive five-star environment. Also, there's the fact that you have the gourmet town of Kenmare on your doorstep. We couldn't get into Packie's this time but we ate in the Lime Tree which got the bib gourmand from Michelin this year.

We also made a new discovery which I want to be the first to tell you about given that it's not often I have actual news. You may not have heard of An Leath Phingin Eile but you will. I had two of the nicest meals I've had in a while there and the dessert could have been the best I've ever eaten. And of course, there's Mulcahy's, and then the Purple Heather for lunch. If I'm ever trying to kick heroin, I'm going to book into the Park. All difficult life changing things should be done in this kind of environment.

Marie says she's not sure she could teach just anyone to swim in three days. You would have to be really dedicated like me (honestly, she said that). But the Kenmare Park will tailor-make your own personal learn-to-swim break based on your circumstances. Call (064) 41200 or try www.parkkenmare.com.

And seriously, if you never listen to another word I say, just do this one thing. If you can't swim, go there and learn. It will honestly change your life. I actually get slightly emotional thinking about it. And now I'm never going to have to explain to my little girl why Dada can't swim.

- Brendan O'Conor