Drunk Diving

I was out at the weekend for a wee swim with my son and went to the PlayDrome in Clydebank. I paid a little more for the thrill of having large chutes available so we could experience sliding down the massive chute and disappearing into the swirling pool at the bottom, and trying to clamour back to the surface and coughing out the water from my airways. Oh the joys.

Alas only one chute was open. The wee one. I say wee, it's still as high as the ceiling but to get up any speed you have to get your arse off the surface and slide on your heels and shoulder blades. This of course causes acute pain to those areas sliding along hard plastic at speed. I did it once. Never again.

Anyway, the wave machine was next. Bloody fantastic. I now know if was actually at sea, I'd drown. I never appreciated how hard it was to swim vertically. I had to do it as my son was there and I didn't want him to see me struggling to stay afloat and coughing with each mouthful of water, so I smiled at him and tried to keep my head above the water. Several times though the wave came up behind me, totally covering me, and I had to bob through the water to a calm bit to push the hair and water out my eyes and force myself to shout "Great isn't it?!"

The pool was also quite busy with your groups of various ages.

The twelve year olds were amusing. They were sitting opposite us in the jacuzzi at one point and the boys were fighting with each other, and twisting each other's arms in a clear show of masculinity for the girls who just talked amongst themselves. Unimpressed. At one point, the girls asked them;

"Do any of yous fancy any of us?"
"Aye" says one boy as they confer with each other.
"Which wan?"
"Her" one boys says, pointing. Oh so romantic.
"Which wan o' yous though?"
"Him". One of them pointing.

So that's how you chat up a girl. So many of my teenage years wasted. If only I'd known the secret, I'd have got my Nat King much earlier. Not at twelve though. That would be illegal. Good, but illegal. I'm not condoning that, oh no.

The next group were the neds. The eighteen year old guys with the muscled bodies, shaved heads and battered faces. They were running round, splashing people, throwing floats around, just missing me, and making a friggin nuisance of themselves. At one point a blue float flew past me within inches of my face and I turned and stared at the prick and mouthed something which hopefully looked like "What the fuck are you doing you little prick?", while letting mt jaw hang slack as if I had more to say. I got a palms raised apology, and I stared at them for a few seconds longer to show them I wasn't to be messed with.

Now clearly, if my son hadn't been there, there's no fucking way I have even looked at them. If I had, I'd have apologised to them for being in their way. There's no way they were going to set about me in the pool in front of everyone and even if I'd got out, changed and reached the front door, I can run like a motherfucker if someone's chasing me, and I've got a car as well.


Then there was the two older neds. You know the guys whose intelligence didn't quite corrolate with their physical age as they grew. I'm sure there's a medical term for that. Two guys, again, very fit looking, shaved heads, unshaven, battered, scarred faces, and clearly a bit pissed. It was 3pm, and they at the swimming pool...drunk.

They were being a bit loud and unruly, and I pished myself laughing as the pool manager, some overweight goober in a shirt and tie, and a wee radio, called one of them over to the side and said "I need a word" and indicated he should move up the shallow end. I watched as the man gestured for the drunk to leave the pool and get out, which he sheepishly did. The hardman seemed to know he'd met his match. A pool manager with a bad tie.