That Sinking Feeling

I write this post today to say goodbye. Au revoir. Auf wiedersehen. For tonight I will die a terrible death that I have foreseen for many months now. Ever since I thought it would be a marvellous idea to motivate myself by posting about it on here I have known that the day will come when my limp pale body sinks lifeless to the bottom of the swimming pool at Bourne Leisure Centre after an overconfident attempt at the breast stroke.  Not so much running before I can walk, more swimming before I can float.

This may sound a tad overdramatic but I am taut with fear at the prospect of my first swimming lesson. It’s all come round so quickly as well. I only popped in today to put my name down thinking that lessons wouldn’t start until next week at the earliest, but no, they start this very evening at 7pm. 

I’ve paid for my 15 lessons up front so if I contemplate chickening out now I will be losing money, and I don’t like losing money. I gained and lost £1 at the weekend when the present Mrs Hayward and I visited Homebase. 

I say gained, I found an abandoned trolley in the car park and was delighted to see that it was one of those you stick £1 into. I felt so smug all the way round the store knowing I was going to get a little bonus at the end of my shopping trip. Then, while I was loading our purchases into the back of the car, Mrs Hayward helpfully returned the trolley herself. I know what you’re thinking, but no.

I watched in vain as she returned it to its correct place with the other trolleys but didn’t connect the little dongle. I started to wave frantically but my hopeless attempts at semaphore were met with a confused look and she just came back to the car to see what I was flapping about. I looked beyond her to see some other chap come along and take the aforementioned bonus trolley and my £1 gain was immediately lost. 

Mrs Hayward couldn’t see what I was upset about as I sulked all the way home. Her opinion was that it wasn’t my money anyway but that wasn’t really the point. I was just hoping that I hadn’t missed out after all and someone had rammed a foreign coin or a bottle top in the slot so that this other chap didn’t have a small windfall either. Knowing my luck he claimed the £1, bought a lottery ticket and won the jackpot, the swine. But I digress, anything to take my mind off my imminent demise. 

As well as drowning today I’m also worried about the dress code at the pool. It wouldn’t have crossed my mind, I would have just dug my trunks out of the drawer, an attractive blue pair with ‘Arena’ (that well-known sports brand) emblazoned across them. However I went into a sports shop today to buy a pair of goggles. Someone I know suggested they would be a good idea so that I don’t get water in my eyes while I’m gasping for breath at the bottom of the pool. Well she didn’t put it quite like that, she was suggesting some exercise where I put my head under water to see how long I could stay alive. This is supposed to help with my confidence but I’m not at all convinced.

So whilst I was in the sports shop I took a look at the array of swimming trunks for men and saw that they range from proper shorts you’d wear down the park to speedos, which you wouldn’t. This has made me paranoid about my own trunks. I came home and tried them on and, to my relief, they fit perfectly. However they are, well, not very long in the leg shall we say. 

They also don’t leave a lot to the imagination. I’m either going to be very popular with the ladies or I’ll scare the living daylights out of them. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to boast here by any means, it’s just that these trunks accentuate what little I have.  

Oh well, at least it’ll be a talking point for the paramedics when they dredge my sorry corpse out of the pool later this evening. 

If I do survive (and this will be mostly down to me clinging for dear life onto the edge of the pool) I will let you know how I got on. 

If I don’t make it then I leave all my possessions to the present Mrs Hayward, including my Doctor Who collection which she must ensure goes to a good home. 

Just to clarify though, a good home is not a charity shop, on a bonfire, or in a skip.

Bottoms up!