So, the big question this week – did I go swimming on my own? The answer is no, but I did go. At the age of 39 (really 29 if we follow last week’s logic) I made my Mum go with me and I smashed it. 20 lengths of granny breaststroke; though I do think that my technique may be becoming slightly less granny like. I got a little competitive and raced the person next to me and beat her in a length. Whilst she was demonstrating what looked like a perfect technique, I was propelling myself in the water in the most un-streamlined manner possible with my head still firmly up and out of the water. Admittedly the person next to me had no idea that she was in a race and had completed about 100 lengths at the time but I felt some pleasure from touching the end before she did.
In another incredible development of confidence, I promoted myself to swim in the actual lanes rather than the public swimming area. This was to avoid having to steer around two more mature women who were doing the whole ‘Check us out we are exercising but what we are really doing is just having a chat in water, not in a coffee shop, moving very, very gradually up and down the pool, in the middle, in the way of everyone else’. So in to the lane I went but it took some time to psyche myself up as I had to put my head under the water in order to get myself under the lane rope. It took me a few attempts before I did it. The relief I felt when I came up the other side alive was huge, until I realised a few lengths later that I would have to do the same thing again to get out.
In the wider news and Brexit Smexit; I have no idea any more. Absolutely no idea. Perhaps I should become a politician. I think I have the required competencies.
The 6 Nations launch took place this week whereby all of the nation’s rugby journalists get to meet and speak with the captain and coach of each team. Farrell has announced that he does always try to tackle properly and within the laws. I try to swim properly, it doesn’t mean I can do it. I try to sing, I can’t do that either. The championship has been given a slightly new look this year with the introduction of its new title sponsor in Guinness taking over from RBS. So that is a Scottish sponsor, and then Irish, what will be next? A Welsh cake company or Ferrari could bring some Italian glamour or perhaps a manufacturer of Yellow Jackets? Or what could we provide? Dyson? They already sponsor Bath Rugby…but hold on they are moving their HQ. Perhaps Sir James was just after a seat at the Singapore 7’s in April. Extreme but effective I would think. They will probably give him his own hospitality box.
In world news a man was asked to leave a plane before it took off at Miami airport due to body odour issues. Harsh. But how on earth did he manage to get through the gauntlet of perfume counters and their sales men and women without being doused with a waft of different scents? I must ask him. Cane toads in Australia on the other hand must have been attracted to the scent of snakes as they have been attempting to mate with one. Have they got their eyes closed? Do they prefer to leave the light off? They may get some pleasure but I am pretty sure there will be no tadpoles as a result of that. It often occurs after a heavy rainfall apparently – what is in their rain? Fosters?
I have not mentioned Baby Bear – Baby Bear is fine. Jeff is fine, though the edges of his leaves are going slightly brown. Any horticulturists able to offer any advice? J is also fine. We are all fine! Well I am not really. I am shattered, I am developing increasing bouts of sciatica (another lovely side-effect of pregnancy that they don’t tell you about) and frequency of weeing is still high. On a more positive note I was pleased with myself for getting dinner ready the other evening in good time, turned the oven on but established 30 minutes later that our dinner was still sat on top of the oven. I also nearly poured a bottle of milk in to the kettle. Why? I have no idea why but I really hope that my mind will go back to ‘normal’ after Baby Bear arrives.
