Anansi Boys read as derivative, and so it is, but after reading American Gods I see that Neil Gaiman cannibalized himself as much as anyone else. I caught a bit of Delirium in one spot.
On the beach! again!
We met a 70-year-old yellow-naped Amazon named Polly. You could tell she was old by the state of her feathers. She and her people sat on the sand, she between them, and really nearly in a sit rather than a sand, and she ran her upper mandible through the sand and kept up a constant muttering, beginning with "hi" as we approached, laughing when any of the four of us laughed, and saying "Bye! bye! bye!" as left.
2.2 miles.
Now, a real swim would have been from the jetty at the inlet to the pier, but no. I have not tried to do the equivalent of lap swimming in open surf in ages. I did some distance, with goggles against salt water, but I could breathe only to the shore side because of the surf on the ocean side. I also did as much butterfly as I could manage, maybe 50 meters: no flip turns.