It would appear that I may have bought the wrong shoes for my Swing Dance Club. After my blog yesterday, there was a bit of banter going on as to 'what the hell has she bought?' I'm really worried now. Am I going to be the laughing stock of the church hall next week? Will the teachers throw me out, whilst shouting at me about how I've 'shown everyone up with my flashy ne'er-do-well footwear'?
But one lovely lady put my mind at rest (thank you Ashleigh) so when they arrive later today, I shan't have to lie to the delivery man and deny all knowledge of them, pushing them forcefully back into the van while saying very loudly that they are 'NOTHING TO DO WITH ME'. I am planning on wearing them every day between now and the next class just to break them in a bit. Bets are currently being placed in the house as to how many times my suede soles will cause me to fall down the stairs/slip over in the hall/get my feet wet (having forgotten that they cannot be worn outside EVER).
Anyway, they're just shoes, and if they improve my Jig Kicks and Charleston Walks even by 0.00001% it will be twenty pounds well spent.
Mrs S and I went swimming again on Thursday night. I have been very concerned that I may not be swimming properly, which might explain why Mrs S manages to lap me at least twice every week much to my shame. Sometimes, I manage to read the whole advert on the side about swimming the channel for charity without actually moving anywhere - it's an art. So I asked Miss R, a competent and rapid swimmer, as to how I could improve my swimming. 'Get your face in the water', was her reply. 'You'll find it much easier and you'll go faster'.
Well I couldn't face goggles. I'm 53 and not too keen on them. I imagine that will all my wrinkly face skin, a pair of goggles would just disappear into the folds, and make me look like a Cabbage Patch Doll. So I went commando, as it were. Well the first two strokes went ok, but it all went to pot when I surfaced for the first time for some much needed oxygen. Now normally, I don't have a fringe. However, after four seconds beneath the water, I developed one around a foot long, which hovered around my upper lip as I broke the water's surface. This resulted in temporary blindness, and a frantic hair pushing back, while continuing a one armed breast stroke. I veered a beautiful 45 degrees, and found myself on the ropes...literally.
So it was back to what son number two affectionately calls 'Old Lady Swimming'. Head high and proud, eyebrows hoisted up in an attempt to stop my eyes coming into any sort of contact with the wet stuff, and a wide toothed grimace every time Mrs S passed me. There may also have been some frowning and tutting going on at the splashing kids on the other side of my rope...who knows?
Swimming in a public pool is not the same as swimming when you're on holiday. There is no sun lounger waiting for you to dry out on in the sunshine, with a cold beer next to it as a reward. Oh no, at this time of the year, it's a quick dash back to the changing room, costume off, clothes back on (always having forgotten either clean bra or knickers), walk over wet floor as 'outdoor shoes completely forbidden', socks and boots on, cup of tea with Mrs S (unexpectedly lovely as it happens), then out into the cold dark night.
On Thursday night, thanks to Miss R's advice, I had wet hair when I left. I can't even begin to describe to you what this looked like by the time I got home to the husband, which will teach me to take a comb and a large hat with me next week.
Fortunately, I made the decision to go back to my curls on Thursday, so at least it can only get better.
Unlike my bloody swimming...