No, I don’t mean children shitting everywhere. But yesterday I experienced two pongs that have eluded me since youth.
The first was that of the dentists. I have finally been persuaded to go after many years of neglect and no little dragon stickers to tell me how clean my teeth are. The last time I went I was about sixteen and it was not a good experience and I’ve not been back since. That was 8 years ago.
So I’m not feeling to enamelled (ha, enamoured, enamelled, teeth? Forget it) about going. But 1 st April (oh the fun) is when I fork out 50 quid and get told how much I need to have done.
The other smell was that of swimming. After nagging from lis and myself noticing hat I have developed manbreasts I figured it was time to something about it. Or then again, I made that decision last summer. I even made it to the swimming pool, but there were some big kids outside, about 14 but they looked as though they could piss all over me in the pool (not in the dirty way).
So today, after work I meandered at slowly as I possibly could to get to Kentish Town swimming pool. I walk in, the guy behind the counter is supremely fit (not in a dirty way) and I already feel embarrassed.
Those of you getting to know me through diary won’t be surprised that going swimming wasn’t as easy as it should be. Things happened to make it a traumatising experience.
Firstly, I try to walk through the swing doors. They swing both ways (not in the dirty way) and I saw to my horror 3 small children running straight at me.
Me being bigger (and obviously better) and heavier they all go flying. Their parent/guardian shouts at them to let the grown up through. I realise that I’ve been called a grown up and flinch, despite the full beard and wheezy breath, I still like to think I have a childlike quality. I apologise and as she walks out she says “No manners.â€
Thing is, I’m not sure if she meant them or me.
I go into the changing room, there are 77 more children there. I don’t like this. But thankfully they all seem to be leaving.
I undress (in a cubicle, they weren’t around when I was a self conscious teenager) and out I come in the most un speedo like baggy shorts around.
Time to navigate the complex locker system.
It costs ten pence. I have one. How hard can it be?
I put all my things in and lock the door. I tie the rubber wriststrap round my wrist. I am ready to go.
On the way to the pool I decide to check out my sorry reflection in the mirror.
I am wearing my glasses.
They should be in the locker.
I unlock the locker. I put the glasses in, I shut the door. I turn the key.
It won’t turn
The 10p had been swallowed.
I search my pockets. No more change. There’s no one around. I’m going to have to go back out to the reception. It’s only through a door, but the reception looks onto the street. Do I really want Kentish Town people to see me and my hideous frame (alright it’s not that bad).
Maybe I should get dressed again…No, that would be silly.
So I have to walk out and watch the people that work here (fit people, who work out lots) see my pot belly. I then have to ask for change. The guy knows that it costs £2.90 to get in, and that he gave me 10p change. So therefore I was not only fat, but stupid and had fucked up the simple process of using a locker. How could I possibly try to swim?
And I fear he was right.
I finally got to the pool. It was fairly empty. Phew.
As I lined up at the end I found myself next to an agile young man. We make eye contact (not in a dirty way). I remember how, no matter how shit at a sport I may be, I am extremely competitive. We are both inwardly revving our cars for the lights.
Amber
Green
We go, I keep up with him, then after that first inch he I lose him. I am using muscles I haven’t got, this is hard.
I nearly drown.
8 lengths later and close to death I race an old man doing butterfly stroke. I beat him
The worst thing is, when I get to the end I raise my fist and say yes.
I am pathetic