Waving, Not Drowning

For some reason that isn't quite clear in my mind even now, I thought this morning that I should go for a swim. It's something that (many years ago) I used to enjoy a lot. Somehow, I drifted out of my habit of a weekly visit to the municipal baths.

For once, the thought was midwife to the act, and so I found myself earlier today queuing to pay for a swimming session at a nearby leisure centre. The whole experience gave me pause to reflect on the pace of change in life. I'm not a man who is fearful of change - but I like to know why it's necessary.

What happened to those foot-baths of chlorine we used to have to wade through before we were allowed to get anywhere near the pool? They were designed to promote a proper sense of hygiene, I am sure, and must have done their bit to prevent the spread of goodness knows how many millions of foot infections in their day. Yet now, they are nowhere to be seen.

Was some test carried out that I never heard of, proving them to be ineffective, after all? Or are they just another casualty of local authority cuts: an attempt to reduce the costs of providing much-needed leisure facilities?

I shall be checking my feet very carefully indeed for signs of infection, I can tell you - and I have my solicitor's number to hand, just in case.

As for the introduction of wave machines, I am merely left gasping as to why they are thought a necessary 'improvement' to a swimming pool. If I had not been able to persuade Mrs Blunt to stay at home while I swam, and had she chosen to dive in while the waves were in operation, then the prospect of a mini-tsunami would have been real. And that, I have to say, is something that makes me shudder to think about, even now.