Splish splash

I’m out of town this week – work. As such, Murphy, who is a cruel bastard, has ensured one of my boys is sick. Not Tobermory this time, but Boomer. Poor little bugger has been in a fight, or walked on something, and has an infected, leaky, foot. And yes, he’s been to the vet. Poor wee sausage.

I’m out of town as part of the deployment of a big project at work. The project manager is a wonderful woman, I think I want to be her when I grow up. Today, after the training sessions that I’m there to run, she (out of the blue!!) said “let’s go swimming!”

What the hell, right, why not. So we went to buy her a pair of togs – I’m an over prepared freak and bought mine with me – and bought towels.

Although I haven’t swum for five years – in fact it might be closer to six – I haven’t lost it. I wasn’t breaking speed records or anything, but I did a very creditable set of laps. I lost count somewhere after 20, and as it was a 33 meter pool, I’ve swum at least 600m. I doubt I hit the full kilometer, but I am, I feel justifiably, proud of myself.

Originally published at spinneretta