Today was a normal day. End.
My journeys to and from work were actually easier than they normally are, no doubt because of schools being closed and the knock on effect of that. I wore my walking boots. I had wondered whether this would be absolutely necessary, whether I would look a prat, indeed whether it would be a bit embarrassing walking round snow-less Central London with robust shoes (and an impressive tread).
They were needed! Just about every pavement I walked along was mainly compact ice. Most people seemed to very sensibly shod. A lot of walking boots, and other sensible shoes. What amazed me, though, was how many people were wearing stupid shoes. I don't mean in the office, where it is likely (highly likely) that people will have changed, but out on the streets. I cannot understand what must be going through the head of someone who sees the weather conditions, knows how it was yesterday, and still makes the decision to wear three inch stilettos, canvas sandals, or wedged-heeled open-toe backless sandals. How insecure must someone be to put fashion before the safe negotiation of pack-ice pavements?
My hairdresser phoned me at about two minutes past nine full of apologies for yesterday (I told him not to apologise). I have an alternative appointment tomorrow evening, and, without prompting, he told me to remind him to give me the 30% Monday discount. Good customer service!
I went swimming this evening. I am really in two minds about my progress. I did twelve lengths, and I really had to push myself to finish the twelfth. Six months ago, I would have been very surprised and inspired at the thought of doing twelve lengths. But that really isn't particularly impressive in absolute terms. Twenty would be good, sixty even better. I don't know what normal reasonably fit people do. Still, on balance I enjoyed my twelve lengths, then I had a long soak in the shower, and then I felt a very warm feeling of satisfaction as I travelled home.
It's always fascinating to watch people's behaviour. Generally the pool is divided into three strict lanes and one area twice the width of a lane. In the general area, there are no specific rules, it is anarchy. Except that, the overwhelming vast majority of adults invent and obey an unspoken set of rules. These will be about courtesy and consideration, not starting a length in the direct trajectory of someone else, giving way to let a faster person set off first, giving priority to back-strokers as steam gives way to sail.
But then you get one bloke who I can only describe as passive-aggressive, without the passive. Ploughing up and down, overtaking people far too close, displacing a lot of water.
I wonder what is going through the minds of men like that. Are they trying to show that they're Master of the Universe? If they're so successful and powerful, what the heck are they doing at a crappy Local Authority Pool? Do they piss up trees as well?
There was another one like that a couple of weeks ago. He barge dinto me twice. Once is accidental, twice is too much. I told him to stop being so aggressive "The fast lane's over there, this is for weak swimmers." As he slunk away cowed, I added "And cut your toenails..." Perhpas I am a bit of a bitch, but I do get sick of these sexist ageist aggressive twenty-somethings with zero emotional intelligence. They are so full of themselves and their physical superiority, but they soon prove that they can dish it out but they can't take it. And I'm not just being a bitch, I am also a crusader. Intimidating grunts like that are a reason why inexperienced or unconfident people avoid sports venues.
It's like on buses. I am now on a one woman campaign to stop people standing on the stairs. Sometimes, it deters people from going upstairs, thinking there are no seats, and eventually people are left standing needlessly at bus stops. Some of them are up to no good - dippers perhaps. I see no reason why I, a lady of un age certain*, should have to push past their smelly unwashed bodies. Sometimes I resort to enquiring sweetly (and loudly) whether they are pickpockets or pervy gropers, at which point they have to move, to get off the bus in shame. Mostly it doesn't come to that!
* ie old enough to be their mother and not a lot younger than their Gran
What I did at lunchtime!
