Time since I last did any swimming – at least 8 months
My current fitness level – about the same, or slightly worse than a severely asthmatic sloth with a serious bacon addiction and a really comfy sofa
Distance I managed to swim – 1,100 metres or 0.68 of a mile
Distance it felt like to me – at least 15 miles
Number of people I snarled at for getting in my way, being excessively splashy, chatting when they ought to be swimming, taking too long, blocking the endy bits of the pool or generally being where I didn’t want them to be (i.e. in the same pool as me) – about 23
Number of squaddies ordered to keep swimming til their sergeant could no longer smell jaegerbombs – 2
Number of times said squaddies had to get out to chunder – at least 4 (but I’m so grateful they did)
How much I hate communal changing rooms – slightly more than I would hate an army of carnivorous slugs emerging from Hitler’s armpits, spitting cancer and molesting kittens
How many times it is appropriate to strike up a conversation with me when I am doing the nekkid towel dance of shame – NONE, NONE EVER! Don’t do that, just don’t.
Number of people who respect this rule – apparently also none
Number of people who appreciate being told ‘look lady, there are a limited number of people I’m prepared to make small chat with whilst clutching my undergarments like a stripper who has just seen her dad in the audience, and you madam, are not only none of those people but I will also thank you to cover yourself, you shameless, chlorine scented, harlot!’ – yeah, that would be none yet again.
Might leave that another eight months then
talesofthemildlydiscombobulating 