Last week I drove an elderly car-less neighbour to the city hospital to visit her ailing husband. I was glad to oblige because I hadn’t visited a city for a while and I planned to do a bit of shopping while I waited. I dropped the old girl outside this hideous edifice on the outskirts, and, as I am on a health and fitness phase of my headlong descent into the grave, I went first for a swim at the leisure centre.
One lane only of the pool was open for public swimming; the rest were devoted to school kids’ swimming lessons. This one lane was narrow as public swimming lanes go, and it contained more swimmers jostling for sea room in a single lane than I have ever seen. An elderly gentleman performing a frantic and almost stationary breaststroke was causing a massive tailback in both directions.
I adjusted my goggles, slid down into the water and joined the procession.
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