Luminaries of Electric Ditches,

Football is my main extra-curricular activity, it consumes too many days and evenings and as such when it’s not going well, it does tend to linger over the rest of affairs. Having sacked my brother, the team is crashing and burning, the manager is receiving his comeuppance. Only 9 players arrived at kick-off time for our weekend match, as a result, I made my first start of the season, it’s hardly the way I want to achieve the position I deserve and would have had already but for the ongoing political wrangling. Five people, of whom I was the only recognised player, attended training last night. Long may the team continue to crash and burn; I hope to be the one who pours the metaphorical petrol over the last remains. It'll serve them right for wasting my time.


Indeed, football may not be the way forward; it’ll only end up in a hip replacement. I’ve been swimming a few times recently over lunchtime. I was only a swimmer of a barely adequate standard; however, it’s a skill that is not easily forgotten and I can still do it, despite being the one most likely to require a lifeguard becoming wet on each visit. Swimming seems good for the muscles and bones, and it’s a relief from the pain of sitting at a desk all day.


I stick to the main pool, I don’t want to hassle the proper swimmers in the sectioned off lanes. I think breast stroke might be the best for fitness, but my Eric the Eel style is not pretty. The old people seem to stay so stable through the water, they don’t go fast, and they just glide like ghosts, whereas I drink my way up and down the pool with tidal waves bellowing out from each side. I wonder where my buoyancy has gone in the years since I last entered the pool, I seem to sink faster, but there’s no hope of me becoming wider so the lifeguards are going to have to keep their eyes peeled, however, I refuse to be saved by the one who seemed to laugh at me brushing my hair – I wasn’t going to leave it with tangled bits.