Naked male dancing buttocks greeted me at the lovely lido early on Monday morning.
Plus some hit and miss Joni Mitchell warbling.
I get my kicks these days out of the lido changing room conversations. It's better than clubbing, plus cheaper but with similar thrills.
And I get to wear RUBBER once again.
The swim itself was spectacular.
A change in Transpontine / estuary wilds fortunes allowed me to have a leisurely morning.
It was perfect Brockwell blue from the top of the Tulse Hill end of the park all the way back down towards the Herne Hill gates.
The pool was radiant.
I had a lane to myself and made the most of it.
Ten lengths? Twelve?
I just kept on turning around and putting in the strokes. I could have carried on, but the lovely lido conversations were also on my agenda as a man of leisure.
I eventually cycled back to Sunny Stockwell for a run of work shifts back in the flat.
I had hope that I could balance these with a couple of session at The Oval watching the 'rrey.
I was wrong.
Work took over and never really let loose on the grip.
Pay to play, etc.
The working day somehow just became lost.
Soon it was time to head east and back to over there.
Good luck, etc.
A brisk garden water, and then BOOZE and the Bournemouth Vs Bolton match.