Tuesday, 18 February 2014


Vol 30  Overshare


Having already outlined an aversion to boats, you’ll not be surprised to hear that I’m also a pretty lousy swimmer in the sense that I’m not enamoured with getting my face wet.  So, if you are unlucky enough to encounter me at the baths or on holiday somewhere warm, I’ll be the one sedately making my way – breast stroke – not a ripple in sight, glaring at any unfortunate who happens to send a stray spray my way.

Anyhow, this mistake took place at the swimming baths between husbands, having been persuaded out with a little Welsh friend not unlike Stacey, of the Gavin and Stacey variety.

“Aw, come on Blod,” she’d urged, “mebbe it’s time to put yourself about a bit again,” and she was right, so I did.

So off we’d gone to the chlorine drenched echoey arena and presently, Welshy being her usual sunny, sociable self, sauntered off perhaps to show off her eye-watering piercing to any that wanted, or not. 

Undeterred, I slid myself, glamorously I felt, in my new red bikini, checking for rogue kids and jumpers-in, into the shallow end.  All clear, I gracefully made my breast stroke way toward the length of the pool mercifully relatively dry.  Toward the middle or so, I spotted a hot bodied lifeguard, aren’t they all, beginning to walk somewhat urgently alongside me and toward the deep end. 
Allowing myself a momentary lapse of concentration in which I imagined him rescuing me from a pirate ship or some sort, encouraged, as I returned from this daydream, realising that now he was raising his eyebrows meaningfully in my direction.  I double checked this of course, glancing round.  Yes, our eyes locked, he was gesturing to me.  Hmm, interesting, I smiled up at him.  Coughing a little he motioned again to me and briefly I considered what I was doing that night just in case, and also how I’d get out of the water with dignity without slithering back in, once I reached him, now delectably directly in front of me. 

“Ahem,” he indicated pointing and I looked down to find one (just one, my God, not even symmetry in my mortification) floating along under my chin, for presumably the length of the pool, one 36DD escaped boob.