Jaqui's Daily Blog

Changing Rooms, Swimming Lessons and Smiley Faces

I am not sure whether handing over the Daily Blog to Young Faris is such a good idea. He is getting far too good at it for my liking. But, hey, I am back in command (sort of) today.

 

So exhausted was I by my cross-country excursion by train yesterday that I didn’t wake up until 9 a.m. this morning. This turned out to be a good move on my part (or perhaps lack of move would be more accurate) because by the time I shuffled downstairs Mr B had already loaded the dishwasher and emptied the tumble dryer.  Mr B is Good With Machines.  He is the only man I know who can wax lyrical about a vacuum cleaner.  When I say he is Good With Machines, I don’t mean that he could deal with any mechanical fault that might befall them.  I mean he is good at turning them on. And off.  

 

One of the (many) great things about retirement is that I can just decide, almost on the spur of the moment, to take myself off on a Swim Date with Young Faris and his Mum.  Then I can stay in bed as long as I like the next day, awaking refreshed and ready for (almost) anything.  I am really sorry if I appear to be rubbing this in the noses of those of you still slaving away in the Business World but here is a pleasant thought: Your Time Will Surely Come. 

 

Going swimming with Faris and his Swim Buddy Oliver was quite an experience.  I don’t know about you, but I find that every swimming centre I visit holds its own challenges, especially when one is as short-sighted as I am.  The Rainbow Leisure Centre in Epsom has mixed Changing Rooms.  I didn’t realise this until I bumped into a fella drying his hair with the wall-mounted hair-dryer. It was a bit of a surprise. Instead of stripping off where you stand (which, in all the circumstances, would have been A Big Mistake) you have to find a cubicle in which to disrobe, then stash your belongings away in a locker.  

 

There were literally hundreds of lockers and I was a trifle worried that I would forget where to find Locker Number 160 when I had finished my swim.  Faris didn’t mention this difficulty in the Daily Blog yesterday, because he could rely on his Mum to sort things out for him.  In the end, I decided to keep my specs firmly on the end of my nose, so that I would not be found on my hands and knees, dripping wet from my swim, desperately peering at the numbers on every locker, looking in vain for Number 160 on the bottom row.

 

Once you know what you are doing, the Rainbow Leisure Centre is a great place to enjoy a swim. The Middle of the Darling Daughters thinks she will sign Faris up for swimming lessons there which would be an excellent Spectator Event for me in the future. I have watched most of my grandchildren at their swimming lessons – I was secretly devastated when Jack and Hazel called it a day on Sunday morning swimming lessons at the RAF Odiham swimming pool.  I couldn’t tell you how many happily aimless hours the Youngest of the Darling Daughters and I have spent there, watching The Twosome swim up and down, stopping our chatter at critical moments when we needed to prove we were watching when they came to execute (i) a dive, (ii) a tumble turn or (iii) their flipper control.

 

I’m so pleased, by the way, that Faris likes his knitted soldier.  I understand that this morning, when he woke up in his cot, he was chatting away to him when his Mum came in.  As in, Faris was chatting to the soldier, not the other way round.  I think he likes his smiley face.  As you can see from today’s photo, smiley faces are something Faris and Solly the Soldier have in common.

 

Plus, now I come to think of it, Faris’s curly hair bears a quite amazing resemblance to Solly the Soldier's bearskin...

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Latest comments

03.07 | 22:43

Wouldn't have missed it for the world. xx

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12.06 | 02:31

I love that you talk to your plants ... I used to on my allotment ... seemed perfectly rational !

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05.06 | 22:01

Sounds like a perfect day Jacqui, happy birthday for tomorrow, love Val xx

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07.12 | 15:48

what details have you got on your mysterious Wilde?

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