In the spirit of new year new me I have dragged my blubbery carcass to the swimming baths for the first time in possibly seven or eight years. I can say categorically that nothing has changed. The smell of chlorine and wet dust and wee permeates the air and the slapping sound of people slipping on their nylon clad arses en route to the showers can be heard regular as clockwork. I now have a two year old excuse to belly flop the large floats but it has to be said that there has always been a two year old deep inside me screaming to get out and a trip to the baths is like unleashing the dragon.
I can remember swimming lessons from junior school being a torturous affair with a gaggle of girls all fighting over who didn't want to stand next to the kid with psoriasis and skid marks. I also remember the two PE teachers who took us never, and I mean NEVER EVER getting their kit off and getting in the god damn pool. I imagine I'm an olympic standard swimmer when I'm fully clothed and standing on the side.
I also remember a girl called Lisa doing the 50 metre backstroke with one pre-pubescent boob hanging out of her costume and no one telling her in case she failed her badge.
I still take my towel to the side of the pool to reduce the time spent in full view to an absolute minimum, although my costume is now a regulation nylon Reebok rather than something that looked like my gran knitted it. I still hate putting my head under the water or getting my hair wet (I heard a rumour that if you dye your hair the chlorine can turn it green and I'm not about to prove them right) and I still end up next to the skid mark psoriasis kid only he's put on fifteen stone and now has a back like a gorilla.
The moral of the story? That some life experiences will never let you mature beyond the age of twelve? That these things exist to force humility even on those with the perfect ten (they're the ones who have a wedgy but you decide not to tell them) or that the slings and arrows of childhood scar us for life?
I used to pass a leisure centre to and from work every day where the local scroats would rearrange the letters on the side that should have read 'SWIMMING POOL' but would often read 'SPIMMING WOOL' or my particular favourite 'SWIM IN POO'
I don't swim there, don't think I ever will.
