put that thing away

Over the past couple of weeks I've been swimming a couple of times - for the first time since long before my relapse started in mid-June. Although I haven't managed to do as many lengths as I had been doing previously, it has been a good start.

Because I was a wee bit nervous my Dad came along on the first occasion. We went to the pool which is just down the road from our house, not the one we go to with Little Ms D which has unisex changing rooms.

The one which is closest to me very much DOES NOT. Why does this matter? Well.

By way of illustration, when we arrived last week we were greeted with the following sight.

A fully naked old man, with his back to us, bending over to dry his lower legs, balls SWINGING LOW, his third eye practically winking at us.

The level of nudity is something I've noticed previously at this particular swimming pool and it doesn't get any less weird, no matter how often I return.

Illustration based on the author's sworn testimony by my brother

I'm no prude but I can't see that I will ever be the sort of person who is that... I dunno. Blasé? Regardless of who you are, the male form is a ridiculous thing, all swinging danglers and proud salutations.

Even after I'd warned him, my Dad was silently mouthing, "What's going on?!" And that was before we walked further into the changing room to see a (clothed) man talking to a completely stark bollock naked man.

A couple of days afterwards I mentioned the fact that I'd been swimming to my community physio. After having a laugh about the old lads and their OLD LADS, I mumbled something apologetic about the low number of lengths I managed. She pointed out that a few weeks previously I'd been pretty much immobile. So I should maybe go a little bit easier on myself.