Floundering

Just so you know: this page was imported from my old blog. Some pages were rather mangled in the process; my apologies if things don't quite look right.

(Swimmingly off-topic... Sorry...)

I've decided to start swimming again.

I can hear the shouts of "big deal" from the back of the class, but I care not. This is my blog (technically it's a work blog, but I don't do much work, and certainly nothing a real person would consider interesting), so I may as well relate some of my boring non-work experiences too. That's my justification, and I'm sticking by it ;o).

I haven't swum in probably about 8 years. I used to swim regularly and at one point, some misguided soul in the ATC thought I should represent my wing at swimming. That, thankfully, only lasted a night - I much prefer messing about underwater to the science of thrashing up and down a pool.

As with any reasonably new experience, it's always good to start out with a recce, so I dropped into the baths yesterday morning to check on the prices and times. Truth be told, I'd taken my swimming kit in case I decided to take the plunge - pun intended - but chickened out at the prospect of scaring any small children ("Look mummy, it's Big Foot!") and in any case, I'll deny I was ever there for anything other than a recce. So there...

This morning I dragged myself down to the pool and, armed with baggy shorts, a towel barely larger than a flannel, and more than a little apprehension, I turned up and paid my

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