Remind me ...

...NEVER to go swimming when it is mothers and babies morning.

Small pool at a hotel (I love the pool, it's underground and quirky), I love swimming very much (and am very grateful that my health has picked up enough for me to be going three times a week at the moment, heaven) but I do NOT love mothers and babies.

Not when I am trying to swim ... it's meant to destress me! But with 8 mums and assorted offspring, and a rather irritating teacher, all doing versions on a theme of 'and WOOOOOSH we go! oh LOOK at you Frederick, aren't you CLEVER!' (Not really. You threw him in. He cried), and 'let's all go SURFING (please God no, make it stop), are we READY? and SURF!' (all sing theme to Hawaii Five OHMYGODMAKEITSTOP!) keep swimming, up and down, up and down, don't look, pretend it's not happening and 'LET'S ALL GO WOOOOOOSH! up in the air!'

I did 20 lengths and gave up - then realised too late. Big error.
Yes, I got out at the same time as the class was ending and another was about to begin - stampede for the showers, then the entire changing room area looked like a creche.

Reminded me too much of taking a class of infants swimming when I used to work in primary schools ... was half expecting one to come and ask me to help them put their tights on.

I was never part of that group of mums who have bizarre classes lined up for little Henry and Jennifer every day of the week - they were talking about baby ballet, something with intruments (I don't think it was rock guitar or death metal) and other goodies. I found out that 'swimming' was £120 a term - so if the others are the same, then about £400 a term. Three terms a year. £1200. Fuck me.

Too much time and money - what happened to playing with your kids on your own, or with your friends and their kids? It's what I did, and what my mum did. And what all the - er - vaguely normal humans did.
Thank fek nobody said 'play dates', I might have shouted Fuck Off! very loudly from the changing rooms.

Give it ten years - Henry will be advertising his party on Facebook and hoards of the great unwashed will be shagging on the shagpile, pissing in the washing machine and vomiting Chardonnay down the back of Jennifer's tutu.

(Knitting - lots to report, stay tuned)