Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Saturday, 9 June 2012
"OK - ANYONE HERE WHO CANNOT SWIM?" The thick-legged student from Guy's Hospital shouts to the shivering boys at the middle-edge of Woking Lido.
I, and a handful of other freaks put our hands up. We seem to amount to a group of around 4.
There is the very fat boy, then there is the very thin boy, then there is they boy covered in spots and with extremely thick glasses - my best friend - and me, a boy of over six feet in height, but only weighing in at around 9 stone, with his shoulder-blades sticking painfully out from behind his back.
"OK. ALL YOU BOYS GO OVER TO THE SHALLOW END, AND I WILL BE WITH YOU SHORTLY".
Shortly looked around him, then realised he was not being directly singled out for humiliation, so relaxed a little.
We shamble over to the 2 foot deep water and step in, splashing around and feeling very vulnerable indeed. Our willies shrink even further with the cold and wet. We try to laugh, but - as with those who are about to die - fail to salute ourselves, and wait for the inevitable.
After too brief a period, the Guy's student comes over and starts barking orders, and us freaks respond by thrashing around in the shallows, creating a large amount of chlorinated, frothy scum on the piss-saturated water.
"NO NO NO NO!", the muscular student shouts from the concrete edge, "OH FOR GOD'S SAKE! JUST SWIM, DAMN YOU!"
Then, after three minutes, he gives up on us and goes over to make the good swimmers swim better - there are medals to be won, and he wants to win them.