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There was a thunderstorm mid-day, but my husband wouldn’t have noticed, as he was glued to all things aquatic at The Pringle or The Panty Pad as I couldn’t help thinking of it.

A line of weirdly-goggled figures emerged from a tented poolside, looking like Elizabeth Frink warrior heads, only listening to headphones to avoid receiving their applause.  Again I thought that was an example of Bad Manners. Also, having disapproved of Lady Steel, I was not going to admire the various tacky floral tattoos which decorated many of the torsos on display.

A fifteen year old girl won a heat and I was reminded of a twenty two year old swimmer who had commented on the young people coming through, which made her sound positively ancient.  I suppose that means that I am only fit for burial at sea.  I feel like one of those condemned to the Zimmer, not the Zil Lane in life.