Me and my Monkey...

....have been doing sport, so we have.

Rachel, who adores running (we don't call her Forrest Gump for nothing you know) has now reached the age where she can join the juniors section of the local athletics club. She has been on the waiting list since the end of May, and a space became available last week. 'Thrilled to bits' would be a bit of an understatement! So, twice a week, off she goes, and runs, jumps and throws her little socks off.

Partly through my wish to lose weight (sorry, I did promise I wouldn't mention it again, didn't I?), and also because it seemed a waste to drive her over to the sports centre, only to go and collect her an hour later, I have joined as a member. The gym is absolutely packed in the evenings, so there is no way I would set foot in there, but the swimming pool seemed a safer option. Hmm, well, so I thought anyway.

Imagine the scene: me, not exactly slim and sylph-like in my oversized scaffolded swimming costume (think Moby Dick after a trip to the Eat-as-much-as-you-like Pizza Hut buffet). Not nervous per se, but slightly apprehensive at the thought of going swimming for the first time in 20 years. Well, I got as far as the pool, got in (quickly), swam a length or two (slowly), and then stopped for a breather. It was only at this point that I realised that some of the faces bobbing around were, rather familiar.

Just how many SHO's can you get in a swimming pool? Too many. And Hospital Porters. And Phlebotomists. There really isn't anywhere to hide when you're only wearing swimming gear, is there? I did think I might pretend to be someone, anyone ,else, but was rather foiled when someone called 'Hi Tina' across the water.

On recounting the tale the next morning in the office, my oh-so-helpful colleagues, helpfully suggested that I swim in a balaclava next time, so as to avoid being recognised. Hmmmph.