Much though I enjoy swimming in an empty pool – even one with floating lanes – I understood that some sort of Health & Safety rules demand that there be a life-guard there at all times that paying customers are in the water. Perhaps I am wrong and, to be fair, there was a slight but pleasant sense of danger in swimming unobserved. Except of course for the various cameras that are on all the time and watching – even if no one is actually looking at them.
With no one to pace myself against I think I had a rather leisurely swim, even if I am swimming faster than I used to owing to the development of my improved breathing on a longer stroke rate. If that actually makes any sense. What it means in effect is that I do more stokes with my head in the water before coming up for a breath. This is faster and more efficient and improves the speed of swimming but doesn’t use up as much energy. Which is probably a bad thing as I am using the swimming to improve something or other that demands more and more effort to work – not finding ways to make the exercise easier!
However I thoroughly enjoy my swim and I always have the added delight of the possibility of meeting colleagues from the school next door, whereupon I can remind them of the delights that are waiting for them many years ahead when they too retire. Call me saintly, but I take real pleasure in this duty.
Yet more drafts of the poems for the next TMA and some of the revisions are fairly radical. I am trying with increasing desperation to integrate all of the major elements that have been highlighted during the forums and tutorials. I have, therefore, ticked the boxes – but I am not sure that I have ticked them quite convincingly enough. As with the last exercise, time will tell. As will the numbers.
The steady loss of avoirdupois is sort of on course towards the Day of Reckoning which will be April Fool’s Day. I have set myself an arbitrary target (which I have no intention of divulging to all and sundry) and will therefore be able to announce my achievement of it with confidence. Never be let it said that I have not learned something about the way that things are done in the country of my adoption!
It is interesting that my wardrobe has now become a time capsule as I steadily make my way back through time discovering clothing which has lain fallow as my girth increased and is now being brought into the light again as my waist shrinks. That last verb is perhaps a little dramatic for what is happening, but it is undoubtedly true that belts that were unusable are now serviceable.
The sad thing is that, if things go according to plan then the clothing I am wearing now will, in turn be consigned somewhere or other by the end of the year as unwearable. If that does happen then I will have achieved something which I thought undoable late last year.
There is also the question of expense because the plan involves purchasing an entirely new set of outfits – but that, if all goes according to plan, is something to be thinking about in 2015. It is good to have plans, but better that they actually come to fruition. That is something that I need to keep telling myself. Long terms plans they may be, but they need to be constantly updated and checked to see that they are on course.
Our cretinous government has voted to make abortion more difficult to obtain in this country. This is despicable on at least three counts. Firstly it shows the pernicious influence of hard line Papists in the upper echelons of government; secondly it is a conscious attempt by a beleaguered government to deflect attention from the plethora of scandals that surround them, and thirdly it is a gross violation of a woman’s right to decide.
On the plus side, I have to admit that I have not felt this degree of loathing for the misfits of a duplicitous political party since the high and palmy days of the odious Thatcher and her supine bunch of self-seekers. It keeps the muscles which deal with hatred supple and exercised, ready to lurch my body into action at the sight of any one of a range of the pygmies who find themselves in government in Spain. To be fair a reasonable number of the government ministers look like small time crooks, still surprised that they are holding the levers of power. Many of them look so much like caricatures that a simple photograph of them comes out looking like a professional cartoon.
The Prime Minister is a walking joke; the minister of education a sick joke: the minister for taxation a contemptible joke, and the latter a nasal pip-squeak as well. The leader of PP in Catalonia looks like a freak, though this does not distinguish her from her fellow party members. They are a bunch of corrupt liars, undemocratic and selfish.
I relish detesting them all.