Swimming to insanity
Both cloakroom ceilings are down. Flaking plaster everywhere.
Go for a swim in my home pool for old times sake and wish I hadn't. A couple of old women are caling (is that how you spell it? Yorks for chatting) in the fast lane designed for swimming. Ask them very politely to move over the other side of the rope. It is the biggest mistake I have made for months. I am heaped with abuse. "Do you realise you take up twice as much space as me? Do you? Do you? said the chief bully. "Well, yes" I said honestly enough but it didn't work. She told me her mate was dying of cancer perhaps, and how dare I etc. The abuse went on and on ending with a shouted threat that she would pee in the pool if I didn't p off and leave her alone.
To my humiliation I was shivering and felt sick Jesus I really have turned into an old lady. Considered biffing her one really hard but realised she would respond in kind, so like all good middle class ladies I slunk off to get the attendant. Gasps of horror when I arrived in reception in my swimsuit hat and goggles.
Attendant arrives poolside to say that she can't possibly intervene. She's no doubt been on some human relations course while doing her sports management degree, and its rule one - encourage participants in rows to see that there are two sides to every story.
Suggest to her that I only want her to enforce the rules but she ignores me and other participant starts shouting that I assaulted her mate. That I am an attention seeker (well, yes, but not in the pool love)
I swim off. Attendant leaves and Other Participant hires in a huge bald male maybe eighteen stone and encourages him to try his butterfly in my lane. I leave utterly defeated. It takes me the 100 miles back to the constituency to calm down. Speed because BBM will want his lunch. Make it at the same time as him to find that he got fish and chips at the Old Peopl'es home he was visiting. Hope he dies of raised chlorestrol levels.
Freeze all afternoon finishing my survey
200 voters in the two electorates were interviewed in the street on 26.27.28 April. Only positive responses were counted. All"don't knows" "not voting" and people who appeared not to understand the question were excluded.Overall the results were as follows.59% of respondents thought their votes would not make a difference. 44% thought they would.
Constituency A is fairly marginal. B is regarded as a safe Labour seat.In A 44% thought their votes would make a difference, 56% thought their votes would not make a differenceIn B 38% thought their votes would make a difference . 62% thought they would not.
Depressing isn't it. The sooner we get PR the better.
Sleep through Charles Kennedy on Questiontime. Wake up for Michael Howard and decide he is so nasty I have to go away and read a novel. Sad really. I thought he was a lovely bloke when we went to the States with him. Can Australians really transform someone from good to evil in just a few weeks? MaybeI should get an Australian personal trainer to improve life in the swimming pool.
Trotted round to Radio Homicide (local station) to be interviewed by John Humphreys re candidates clothes. Good. We both laughed on a rather serious morning when serious accusations re Blair and the war were the story of the day.
Off now to the market to buy armfuls of flowers to cheer the last weekend. Guests to stay, guests to dinner. Dinner to cook.Sister's partner is faxing posh fish recipe from OZ (nothing violent though)