Pool etiquette
My life can often be compared to any of those mad trippy little Doctor Seuss books. Most of the time I'm the Grinch. 
Somedays, if Im feeling a little snappy, I'm a bit like 'Fox in Sox". if I've had too much to drink its "Green eggs and Ham" or if I'm feeling a little frisky, try "There's a Wocket in my Pocket!"
However, right now I can be best described as "The cat in the hat" or rather, "The fat in the Back". I recall some blogs back, that I vowed never to end up like Gil Gerard with his pendulous, hanging gardens of back fat. Well, I'm a little embarrassed to say that my desire to not end up like this is failing. Readers, I'm more than halfway down the proverbial Crispy Creme, Chicken Cottage super shute that only Kristie, Britney and Oprah have ever made it home alive from!!!!!!!!! If I continue down this super highway of gluttony, I may end up like the Mother on "What's eating Gilbert Grape" and fall through the floor from my bed onto the TV room of my neighbours in the middle of their saturday afternoon football match (at least they'd offer me a beer...)
What makes this even more tedious than explaining to children that it's dangerous to hold firecrackers whilst they go off, is the fact that my back has fracked up on me again. I swear, I shouldn't have watched the Exorcist - directors cut the other night whilst doing sit ups and really believing that the problem had gone away for ever. Smug little me, I opened up a little window in my soul and in climbed that demon. It's wreaking havok with my bed.
So today, off I go to the pewel to do a few little lappies, you know, loosen up the glutonus maxxxximus, unlock the terror that my lower lumbar has sadly begun to lay a setting at dinner for. Hard enough undressing in public when you can't take off your socks. Worse when you're in a cold miserable English Lido (public pool).
Now the Queen Mother, bless her, is the best of a bad bunch of pools around London. Most pools can be characterised by a sorry clientele of pasty, flabby, middle aged "peoples wot cant add" type. And today weren't no exception.
Growing up in Australia, where swimming pools are more common than soap stars in London Christmas panto, the good fit folk know how to swim, and especially know how to behave whilst they're doing it. This, take note dear English, is called POOL ETIQUETTE, and (stops to put a little Dolly on the gramophone) it goes a little sump'n like this:
POOL ETIQUETTE 101 FOR DUMMIES (most of the people in my pool)
1. Swim in a lane that befits your speed and stroke. The "fast and furious" lane, strangely enough, isn't for slow retarded breaststroking or kickboarding.
2. Swim in an anticlockwise, (or clockwise) direction around the lane, as illustrated on the lane board at the end of the lane when you jump in. If you are indeed of the special variety of human, or you are just a bit dim, then ask for assistance before you launch into your recreation of the sinking of the Titanic.
3. When you get to the end of a lane and there are 12 people right behind you because you're swimming like a Dugong, stop and let these people pass. A tap on the foot doesn't mean "would you like to go for a shag in the loos with no lubricant?"
More on that later.
Anyhoo, from today onwards, I'm going to declare my consumption for all to see. It's going to be the only way I know how to diet. Through shame and humiliation. Thanks for the tips, Bridgit.
Diet day one:
Coffee
Coffee
Ham and eggs Bloomer from Pret
Apple
Pasta with prawn sauce (creme based) YUM - thanks Fiona!
Low fat lemon Mousse dessert.
Lots of water
A vodka and Orangina with dinner - Classy.
America's nect top Model is on now, who will Tyra cut from the contest tonight?
xx
Somedays, if Im feeling a little snappy, I'm a bit like 'Fox in Sox". if I've had too much to drink its "Green eggs and Ham" or if I'm feeling a little frisky, try "There's a Wocket in my Pocket!"However, right now I can be best described as "The cat in the hat" or rather, "The fat in the Back". I recall some blogs back, that I vowed never to end up like Gil Gerard with his pendulous, hanging gardens of back fat. Well, I'm a little embarrassed to say that my desire to not end up like this is failing. Readers, I'm more than halfway down the proverbial Crispy Creme, Chicken Cottage super shute that only Kristie, Britney and Oprah have ever made it home alive from!!!!!!!!! If I continue down this super highway of gluttony, I may end up like the Mother on "What's eating Gilbert Grape" and fall through the floor from my bed onto the TV room of my neighbours in the middle of their saturday afternoon football match (at least they'd offer me a beer...)
What makes this even more tedious than explaining to children that it's dangerous to hold firecrackers whilst they go off, is the fact that my back has fracked up on me again. I swear, I shouldn't have watched the Exorcist - directors cut the other night whilst doing sit ups and really believing that the problem had gone away for ever. Smug little me, I opened up a little window in my soul and in climbed that demon. It's wreaking havok with my bed.
So today, off I go to the pewel to do a few little lappies, you know, loosen up the glutonus maxxxximus, unlock the terror that my lower lumbar has sadly begun to lay a setting at dinner for. Hard enough undressing in public when you can't take off your socks. Worse when you're in a cold miserable English Lido (public pool).
Now the Queen Mother, bless her, is the best of a bad bunch of pools around London. Most pools can be characterised by a sorry clientele of pasty, flabby, middle aged "peoples wot cant add" type. And today weren't no exception.
Growing up in Australia, where swimming pools are more common than soap stars in London Christmas panto, the good fit folk know how to swim, and especially know how to behave whilst they're doing it. This, take note dear English, is called POOL ETIQUETTE, and (stops to put a little Dolly on the gramophone) it goes a little sump'n like this:
POOL ETIQUETTE 101 FOR DUMMIES (most of the people in my pool)
1. Swim in a lane that befits your speed and stroke. The "fast and furious" lane, strangely enough, isn't for slow retarded breaststroking or kickboarding.
2. Swim in an anticlockwise, (or clockwise) direction around the lane, as illustrated on the lane board at the end of the lane when you jump in. If you are indeed of the special variety of human, or you are just a bit dim, then ask for assistance before you launch into your recreation of the sinking of the Titanic.
3. When you get to the end of a lane and there are 12 people right behind you because you're swimming like a Dugong, stop and let these people pass. A tap on the foot doesn't mean "would you like to go for a shag in the loos with no lubricant?"
More on that later.
Anyhoo, from today onwards, I'm going to declare my consumption for all to see. It's going to be the only way I know how to diet. Through shame and humiliation. Thanks for the tips, Bridgit.
Diet day one:
Coffee
Coffee
Ham and eggs Bloomer from Pret
Apple
Pasta with prawn sauce (creme based) YUM - thanks Fiona!
Low fat lemon Mousse dessert.
Lots of water
A vodka and Orangina with dinner - Classy.
America's nect top Model is on now, who will Tyra cut from the contest tonight?
xx
Labels: All about sport, Me and my body
posted by Eddie Knittster at 7:19 pm
2 Comments:
Ooh, you should go to the Oasis pool. It's a little more salubrious. The clientele is at least 565% gay, and the "fast and furious" lane is a shark-infested water if you look at someone the right / wrong way.
oh I know love, but with the fat around my inner ring, I'm going to have to wait until summer for the reveal.....I dont like people pointing and staring at me when im in my swim suit. I'm not that well adjusted.
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