The 4 decade mystery of the act of swimming may come down to the legs. I thought it was all in the lungs, but there was much hiccuping on the legs in this evening’s lesson. I am beset with a deep desire not to get into the pool as soon as the lesson begins. I actively want to just run away. I’ve decided to do everything they tell me in this lesson in the hope that I never have to another set of lessons. Usually I have my own menu and refuse to do 40 per cent of the instruction.

Old me:

Get in the dive tank.

No thanks.

Get in the dive tank.

No thanks. You get in it. I’ll watch.

Get in the dive tank.

Thanks v much, but I am quite happy here on the stairs.

New me

I have not yet been requested to get in the dive tank.

Long may it stay that way.

If I am asked to get in, I’ll ask for a set of shoulders to stand on.

**

My son tonight remarked isn’t it strange these really sporty kids who end up with the least sporty parents?

I couldn’t quite fathom his drift til it was clear he was talking bout himself and moi!

Wha! Who! Wha! says I but I do gymnastics.

“its not a sport” he says firmly and uses badminton as an example of a much more demanding sport before a lunar landing on the word Hockey. Hockey he says triumphant. Case closed.