Your leisure is my pleasure
They breed them young. Just like Hitler with his Hitler Youth, they are young impressionable beasts, lured by the power giving properties of a whistle and total authoritaa over all you survey. Their unquestioning adoption and the fierce enforcement of ridiculously draconian rules is part of the code they live by. They are the swimming pool attendants that ruined our son’s birthday.
Actually they are the swimming pool attendants that ruin every trip anyone in the
UK has to any swimming pool ever. They are bred in pods and then released into leisure centres fully formed.
Remember that old sign that had what you can’t do in a swimming pool. (Look above, I found it on tinternet! God Bless Google Images)
- No petting: Everyone’s favourite. What is petting? No-one really knew. Except your older friend who would give you some explanation that confused you more.
Is it kissing? Is it touching stuff underneath trunks/bathing suit? Is it full on intercourse (not easy in chlorinated water- may necessitate trip to doctors afterwards) Anyway, picture of middle aged chest wig bearing man chatting up busty blonde bimbo beside pool would put anyone off whatever petting was anyway. If that’s petting I want none of it. Source of much conversation as a pool going pre-pubescent.
- No bombing- Aww, why not. Bombing is fun!
- No ducking- tell that to the teenage lads that use that as a courting technique.
- No acrobatics- are you kidding, I’m barely managing to keep afloat, never mind do twirly stuff.
- No running- you may actually enjoy yourself
- No smoking- but surely that’s why middle aged woman swim with their heads held firmly above water. So as not to extinguish their lit fags.
- No shouting. So if drowning and trying to attract attention of potential lifesavers, do it quietly, eh?
- No pushing. What? This was the fathers’ preferred method of getting their kid to learn to swim.
“Just chuck him in the deep end. He’ll soon learn. Worked for me and my father before me” .
“Didn’t your father have an irrational fear of water and eventually drown in the one meter deep duck pond?”
“Just get in the pool, son” *PUSH*
9. No toilet. Hands up who has never peed in the pool! Thought so.
When our new school was built there was much excitement. Over the fact that we now had a swimming pool. There was a rumour that if you peed in the pool a red-ring would form around you, identifying you to the swimming pool attendant.
My mate Deborah asked our PE teacher in all seriousness. “Miss. If that red ring appears, and you swim away, does it follow you?”
10. No food. After taking the superb fat busting cardio-vascular exercise of swimming our café will redress the balance by offering a range of high fat, high carbohydrate, processed and deep fried food, with no healthy alternatives available despite this being a fitness centre.
Well, now in the 21st Century the rules would be the following:
- No unapproved swimming aids (only those bought at our shop will be permitted)
- No cameras- swimming pools are a well known primary source of child pornography. Fact.
- No single men wearing raincoats in the spectators’ area. See above.
- No un-authorised fun of any kind. Those wanting to have fun will have to apply in writing at least 30 days in advance.
- No diving or showing off of any water based skills in any way. Even on a diving board. Diving boards will be closed anyway as councillors have deemed them too dangerous. But we’ll not remove them, just to annoy you.
- No swimming except in roped off lanes which necessitate an elaborate queuing and ticketing system
- No spontaneous fun of any kind. This may cause a breach of ridiculous Health and Safety rules
- No laughing. Smiling will only be tolerated in certain areas.
- No untamed pubic hair.
- No opposite sex “petting” however same sex petting is overlooked as the council has an equal opportunities policy.
Still, a day at the swimming pool has it advantages. One single trip will revive your marriage/partnership no end. Simply look around at the other naked male specimens and you will quickly find your chosen partner more attractive than you ever have.* I am assured by my husband that this also works for men.
Happy bathing and remember: NO ENJOYING YOUSELF!
* Only applies in
Scotland. Do NOT try in
Italy.
Your leisure is my pleasure
They breed them young. Just like Hitler with his Hitler Youth, they are young impressionable beasts, lured by the power giving properties of a whistle and total authoritaa over all you survey. Their unquestioning adoption and the fierce enforcement of ridiculously draconian rules is part of the code they live by. They are the swimming pool attendants that ruined our son’s birthday.
Actually they are the swimming pool attendants that ruin every trip anyone in the UK has to any swimming pool ever. They are bred in pods and then released into leisure centres fully formed.
Remember that old sign that had what you can’t do in a swimming pool. (Look above, I found it on tinternet! God Bless Google Images)
- No petting: Everyone’s favourite. What is petting? No-one really knew. Except your older friend who would give you some explanation that confused you more.
Is it kissing? Is it touching stuff underneath trunks/bathing suit? Is it full on intercourse (not easy in chlorinated water- may necessitate trip to doctors afterwards) Anyway, picture of middle aged chest wig bearing man chatting up busty blonde bimbo beside pool would put anyone off whatever petting was anyway. If that’s petting I want none of it. Source of much conversation as a pool going pre-pubescent.
- No bombing- Aww, why not. Bombing is fun!
- No ducking- tell that to the teenage lads that use that as a courting technique.
- No acrobatics- are you kidding, I’m barely managing to keep afloat, never mind do twirly stuff.
- No running- you may actually enjoy yourself
- No smoking- but surely that’s why middle aged woman swim with their heads held firmly above water. So as not to extinguish their lit fags.
- No shouting. So if drowning and trying to attract attention of potential lifesavers, do it quietly, eh?
- No pushing. What? This was the fathers’ preferred method of getting their kid to learn to swim.
“Just chuck him in the deep end. He’ll soon learn. Worked for me and my father before me” .
“Didn’t your father have an irrational fear of water and eventually drown in the one meter deep duck pond?”
“Just get in the pool, son” *PUSH*
9. No toilet. Hands up who has never peed in the pool! Thought so.
When our new school was built there was much excitement. Over the fact that we now had a swimming pool. There was a rumour that if you peed in the pool a red-ring would form around you, identifying you to the swimming pool attendant.
My mate Deborah asked our PE teacher in all seriousness. “Miss. If that red ring appears, and you swim away, does it follow you?”
10. No food. After taking the superb fat busting cardio-vascular exercise of swimming our café will redress the balance by offering a range of high fat, high carbohydrate, processed and deep fried food, with no healthy alternatives available despite this being a fitness centre.
Well, now in the 21st Century the rules would be the following:
- No unapproved swimming aids (only those bought at our shop will be permitted)
- No cameras- swimming pools are a well known primary source of child pornography. Fact.
- No single men wearing raincoats in the spectators’ area. See above.
- No un-authorised fun of any kind. Those wanting to have fun will have to apply in writing at least 30 days in advance.
- No diving or showing off of any water based skills in any way. Even on a diving board. Diving boards will be closed anyway as councillors have deemed them too dangerous. But we’ll not remove them, just to annoy you.
- No swimming except in roped off lanes which necessitate an elaborate queuing and ticketing system
- No spontaneous fun of any kind. This may cause a breach of ridiculous Health and Safety rules
- No laughing. Smiling will only be tolerated in certain areas.
- No untamed pubic hair.
- No opposite sex “petting” however same sex petting is overlooked as the council has an equal opportunities policy.
Still, a day at the swimming pool has it advantages. One single trip will revive your marriage/partnership no end. Simply look around at the other naked male specimens and you will quickly find your chosen partner more attractive than you ever have.* I am assured by my husband that this also works for men.
Happy bathing and remember: NO ENJOYING YOURSELF!
* Only applies in Scotland. Do NOT try in Italy.
Snorkelling for girrrlllss
It’s the Last Last Lanta Blog
I have an announcement to make. I am acquiring a Thai bride. She doesn’t know it yet but she’s coming home with me.
This is the Lady who gave me my first ever Thai massage and I want to take her back to the ‘deen with me. For quite a wee lady she was able to hoist me into the air with her feet. Absolutely incredible.
I have only had one decent massage before at the Kandalama Hotel in Sri lanka. Before that point I never saw the fuss. The Kandalama experience was one of pure luxury with fresh white cotton towels and proper professional massage beds with a hole for your face and a clay basin in your line of vision with a beautiful lotus flower in it, for your viewing pleasure.
But this was even better. Here I am getting the best massage ever in a bamboo bed on a beach. No white towels, no lotus flower, just me, my new best friend and her entire family having their dinner next to us.
John had been for one the day before and put the fear of God into me. “It’s quite sore actually, she kept on telling me to relax but she was crushing my legs with her entire body weight…”
But this is the equivalent of the difference between actual flu and man flu. Actual flu is a horrible, debilitating genuine illness; man flu is a slight cold that induces the male recipient to whine like a baby as if he had actual flu. The massage was just firm- deep tissue massage, I think they call it. So deep-tissue, that the woman’s elbows pressed into my back stick out the other side of my body. But sore it wasn’t. I was so relaxed that I feared I might dribble or snore, or worse, release and involuntary fart into the atmosphere.
I am never going to waste my money on a massage from Oldmeldrum’s “Bees Knees” beauty salon again. An Aberdeen College Beauty Therapy graduate whose idea of a massage is to absent-mindedly rub some lavender oil into your shoulders for ten minutes whilst she plays a new age whale noise tape isn’t going to cut it any more. I want to be elbowed, walked on and hoisted aloft. This woman even massaged my ears for goodness sake!
The other thing of note that has happened in the last couple of days is our boat trip to Koh Phi Phi.
Koh Phi Phi is the former unspoilt paradise, discovered by many a tourist and backpacker and now thoroughly spoiled. But you can’t have it all ways. There are two islands in Phi Phi, Phi Phi Don and Phi Phi Lei. Phi Phi Don is like Benidorm and Phi Pi Lei is like heaven, having been preserved as a National Marine Park. No houses can be built there and you can only visit on a day trip, which is what we did. Phi Phi Lei is also the film set of “The Beach” and as such now attracts more visitors than before, hoping to have a wee personal slice of paradise.
Our first port of call was indeed “The Beach” which is indeed lovely and instantly recognisable as the beach that de Caprio et al gambolled along. But of course now it is lined with twenty boat cruisers like ours. But the good thing is that you can only swim to get there, so that you can’t take a heap of snacks, water bottles and rubbish to leave there to last for all eternity like people seem to do on other beaches, so the sand is pristine. We didn’t go straight to the beach but moored in the deeper sea beside it and snorkelled which was fantastic. There were hundreds of brightly coloured fish, it was like “Finding Nemo” down there! They would all mill around you in shoals, centimetres from your face. Just wonderful.
John had given me an underwater disposable camera but unable to chew gum and walk at the same time, snorkeling and using an unfamiliar camera proved too much for me and I think I have broken it, so may not have photos of me and Louis pretending to be Don and Valerie Taylor (the divers filmmakers in Jaws). Still not everything has to be recorded. Put it like this; I think I will remember this for a long time, so who needs photos?
The thing about snorkeling is that when you see something you forget that you can’t shriek “Look! Look! Louis! An Angel fish!!!” without drowning yourself. I found this hard to get over and frequently snorted water up my nose in my excitement. Definitely going to learn to dive at one point. I can see why it’s so addictive. Memories of that film, “Open Water” aside……
Then we sailed on to “Monkey Beach” named after the fat baboon like beasts that hump in front of you with abandonment for your entertainment. We’ve seen monkey behaviour before to the max in Sri Lanka, where we had to endure a pornographic monkey display on our hotel room balcony. The memory of it still makes me gag, but I can’t go into why- just too revolting. Will get me banned from the blog site.
So we let the hoardes of Swedes taunt the monkeys with bananas whilst we snorkeled some more. Getting onto the beach was an ordeal though. We had to swim quite some way from the boat. Louis is getting to be quite a good swimmer and I was confident he would make it. I would take Eve with her armbands on, on my back. John however, can swim but in his head believes he cannot, which is a problem.
John didn’t learn to swim until he was in his twenties. As a kid his Mum nearly bankrupted herself paying for thousands upon thousands of lessons. But John was the swimming equivalent of that Maureen from “Driving School”, no matter how much tuition he got, he still couldn’t do it. I even tried to teach him, but he had no confidence and just couldn’t manage a length.
However, one night on our first ever holiday together in Corfu, Joe , an Army PT instructor living at our resort discovers that John can’t swim and makes it his mission to teach him. Being a bit of a one, Joe doesn’t wait til the next day to put together a carefully constructed programme of swimming exercises. No; Joe is a British squaddie . John must learn to swim NOW!
John however has tanned a bottle of Metaxa Brandy that we won in a pub quiz, that no-one else could stomach. John is very pissed. He may even have been sick at one point, I can’t remember. Joe dodsn’t care- he orders John into the pool and doesn’t let him out until he can swim like a fish. Job done. We are forever in Joe’s debt. Even though John nearly died.
That’s over fifteen years ago and John can swim pretty well, but he still doesn’t rate his ability. He also panics a bit as I lower Eve into the water. In my mind, Eve goes down the ladder first and floats for a couple of seconds with her arm bands, until I get in and position her on my back, ready for the swim ahead. John jumps in the water, for some reason wanting to get in before Eve, and duly jumps on her, knocking her off the ladder. Eve is crying hysterically.
I now have to swim half a mile with a screeching, terrified three year old who refuses to go onto my back but instead acts as a lead weight at my front, clinging tightly round my windpipe as I try to swim to the shore. There was a point where I really thought, “I have to do this, if I can’t do this, we’re both dead.” But I made it, but only because I let go of her and then took her hand and made her swim alongside me, making my job a hundred times easier…and effectively saving both our lives.
Meanwhile, John is having his own personal nightmare as he thinks too much about not being able to make the distance coupled with the responsibility of having to save Louis, should he start to fail. The distance feels so much longer than it looked from the boat. But after considerable self-doubt, he made it and Louis is a swimming god.
Nevertheless, John is freaked out by the whole thing and pays a guy to canoe him and Eve back almost immediately. He was so grateful for the guy in the canoe that I think he might have paid him half his annual salary. Where’s Joe when you need him?
Other news, there’s a snake loose at the Kaw Kwang Beach Resort! The excitement! We gather round to watch as some of the waiters try to coax the poor bugger out of the palm that it has tried to escape into with broom handles. But never fear, as some Swedish blokes are clearly snake catching experts and shout helpful advice like “You need a net!”, “You’re not doing it right!”, and “No, do it this way!”
Snorkelling for girrrlllss
It’s the Last Last Lanta Blog
I have an announcement to make. I am acquiring a Thai bride. She doesn’t know it yet but she’s coming home with me.
This is the Lady who gave me my first ever Thai massage and I want to take her back to the ‘deen with me. For quite a wee lady she was able to hoist me into the air with her feet. Absolutely incredible.
I have only had one decent massage before at the Kandalama Hotel in Sri lanka. Before that point I never saw the fuss. The Kandalama experience was one of pure luxury with fresh white cotton towels and proper professional massage beds with a hole for your face and a clay basin in your line of vision with a beautiful lotus flower in it, for your viewing pleasure.
But this was even better. Here I am getting the best massage ever in a bamboo bed on a beach. No white towels, no lotus flower, just me, my new best friend and her entire family having their dinner next to us.
John had been for one the day before and put the fear of God into me. “It’s quite sore actually, she kept on telling me to relax but she was crushing my legs with her entire body weight…”
But this is the equivalent of the difference between actual flu and man flu. Actual flu is a horrible, debilitating genuine illness; man flu is a slight cold that induces the male recipient to whine like a baby as if he had actual flu. The massage was just firm- deep tissue massage, I think they call it. So deep-tissue, that the woman’s elbows pressed into my back stick out the other side of my body. But sore it wasn’t. I was so relaxed that I feared I might dribble or snore, or worse, release and involuntary fart into the atmosphere.
I am never going to waste my money on a massage from Oldmeldrum’s “Bees Knees” beauty salon again. An Aberdeen College Beauty Therapy graduate whose idea of a massage is to absent-mindedly rub some lavender oil into your shoulders for ten minutes whilst she plays a new age whale noise tape isn’t going to cut it any more. I want to be elbowed, walked on and hoisted aloft. This woman even massaged my ears for goodness sake!
The other thing of note that has happened in the last couple of days is our boat trip to Koh Phi Phi.
Koh Phi Phi is the former unspoilt paradise, discovered by many a tourist and backpacker and now thoroughly spoiled. But you can’t have it all ways. There are two islands in Phi Phi, Phi Phi Don and Phi Phi Lei. Phi Phi Don is like Benidorm and Phi Pi Lei is like heaven, having been preserved as a National Marine Park. No houses can be built there and you can only visit on a day trip, which is what we did. Phi Phi Lei is also the film set of “The Beach” and as such now attracts more visitors than before, hoping to have a wee personal slice of paradise.
Our first port of call was indeed “The Beach” which is indeed lovely and instantly recognisable as the beach that de Caprio et al gambolled along. But of course now it is lined with twenty boat cruisers like ours. But the good thing is that you can only swim to get there, so that you can’t take a heap of snacks, water bottles and rubbish to leave there to last for all eternity like people seem to do on other beaches, so the sand is pristine. We didn’t go straight to the beach but moored in the deeper sea beside it and snorkelled which was fantastic. There were hundreds of brightly coloured fish, it was like “Finding Nemo” down there! They would all mill around you in shoals, centimetres from your face. Just wonderful.
John had given me an underwater disposable camera but unable to chew gum and walk at the same time, snorkeling and using an unfamiliar camera proved too much for me and I think I have broken it, so may not have photos of me and Louis pretending to be Don and Valerie Taylor (the divers filmmakers in Jaws). Still not everything has to be recorded. Put it like this; I think I will remember this for a long time, so who needs photos?
The thing about snorkeling is that when you see something you forget that you can’t shriek “Look! Look! Louis! An Angel fish!!!” without drowning yourself. I found this hard to get over and frequently snorted water up my nose in my excitement. Definitely going to learn to dive at one point. I can see why it’s so addictive. Memories of that film, “Open Water” aside……
Then we sailed on to “Monkey Beach” named after the fat baboon like beasts that hump in front of you with abandonment for your entertainment. We’ve seen monkey behaviour before to the max in Sri Lanka, where we had to endure a pornographic monkey display on our hotel room balcony. The memory of it still makes me gag, but I can’t go into why- just too revolting. Will get me banned from the blog site.
So we let the hoardes of Swedes taunt the monkeys with bananas whilst we snorkeled some more. Getting onto the beach was an ordeal though. We had to swim quite some way from the boat. Louis is getting to be quite a good swimmer and I was confident he would make it. I would take Eve with her armbands on, on my back. John however, can swim but in his head believes he cannot, which is a problem.
John didn’t learn to swim until he was in his twenties. As a kid his Mum nearly bankrupted herself paying for thousands upon thousands of lessons. But John was the swimming equivalent of that Maureen from “Driving School”, no matter how much tuition he got, he still couldn’t do it. I even tried to teach him, but he had no confidence and just couldn’t manage a length.
However, one night on our first ever holiday together in Corfu, Joe , an Army PT instructor living at our resort discovers that John can’t swim and makes it his mission to teach him. Being a bit of a one, Joe doesn’t wait til the next day to put together a carefully constructed programme of swimming exercises. No; Joe is a British squaddie . John must learn to swim NOW!
John however has tanned a bottle of Metaxa Brandy that we won in a pub quiz, that no-one else could stomach. John is very pissed. He may even have been sick at one point, I can’t remember. Joe dodsn’t care- he orders John into the pool and doesn’t let him out until he can swim like a fish. Job done. We are forever in Joe’s debt. Even though John nearly died.
That’s over fifteen years ago and John can swim pretty well, but he still doesn’t rate his ability. He also panics a bit as I lower Eve into the water. In my mind, Eve goes down the ladder first and floats for a couple of seconds with her arm bands, until I get in and position her on my back, ready for the swim ahead. John jumps in the water, for some reason wanting to get in before Eve, and duly jumps on her, knocking her off the ladder. Eve is crying hysterically.
I now have to swim half a mile with a screeching, terrified three year old who refuses to go onto my back but instead acts as a lead weight at my front, clinging tightly round my windpipe as I try to swim to the shore. There was a point where I really thought, “I have to do this, if I can’t do this, we’re both dead.” But I made it, but only because I let go of her and then took her hand and made her swim alongside me, making my job a hundred times easier…and effectively saving both our lives.
Meanwhile, John is having his own personal nightmare as he thinks too much about not being able to make the distance coupled with the responsibility of having to save Louis, should he start to fail. The distance feels so much longer than it looked from the boat. But after considerable self-doubt, he made it and Louis is a swimming god.
Nevertheless, John is freaked out by the whole thing and pays a guy to canoe him and Eve back almost immediately. He was so grateful for the guy in the canoe that I think he might have paid him half his annual salary. Where’s Joe when you need him?
Other news, there’s a snake loose at the Kaw Kwang Beach Resort! The excitement! We gather round to watch as some of the waiters try to coax the poor bugger out of the palm that it has tried to escape into with broom handles. But never fear, as some Swedish blokes are clearly snake catching experts and shout helpful advice like “You need a net!”, “You’re not doing it right!”, and “No, do it this way!”
