Talk Talk and day-glow trunks defined the Sunday morning swim.
It's My Life was weirdly playing out of the poolside speakers. Mr Butterfly Man was splashing about in a pair of shreddies that needed UV protected goggles to blank out the brightness.
Forty lengths done, time for some steam.
"Business is booming"
...said the local undertaker.
Cheers for that, fella.
It's My Life, etc.
But it's got to be better than the racist spa.
The remainder of daylight was spent in the garden. It was time for the bi-annual trimming of the wisteria.
Titchmarsh tells me that mid-Jan is the ideal moment in which to lob off all the strays from the past summer.
I always fret that I've taken it to extremes. Each May however and the wisteria looks blooming lovely.
It's quite a sad sight in the garden right now. There is little sign of life, and the lawn is a bloody mess.
Titchmarsh also tells me that this is an exciting time as you can visualise what it may all look like in six months time.
In six months time I plan to be permanently rooted in the hammock, knocking back the cheapo lager and listening to the cricket commentary.
I had a few work tasks to complete early evening. I've been putting them off for the past couple of days. They would have been more painful first thing on Monday morning.
And then CLASH EVENING Part III followed.
Bit of a weird one.