He left us! He left us! But that's NOT what I'm gonna do.

Unfortunately for you dear readers, me ol’ china Tom is in ...well, China. That means that it's up to me to satisfy your swim-related-blog-reading-needs. All together now ... *sigh*

In keeping with the general theme of this blog, I imagine that you’re expecting me to begin with something warm and fuzzy. Perhaps a tale involving a cute kitten and a ball of yarn, or by employing overly sentimental and flowery language.

Well snookums, if that’s the case then I’m afraid you’re in for the first of many (four) disappointments, because :

• The kitten story, whilst excellent, has absolutely nothing to do with swimming.
  
  And

• After just two post-new year training sessions I feel that I must make my objection to humanity known (ed – by humanity I am of course referring to the human species, and not the human condition or the quality of being humane, both of which I find to be just swell).

Over the past few weeks, I have arrived at the conclusion that if hell actually does exist, it must bear a very close resemblance to a busy swimming pool. For while some may thrive on the bedlam and confusion of so many bodies in motion, I would rather re-watch the shambles that was Kevin Costner’s Waterworld, than navigate my way through such a tightly packed press of flailing limbs.

Amidst such crowded surrounds our training sessions have inevitably suffered. They’ve become, dare I say it, normal - boring even - as Tom and I feel compelled to reign in our wilder eccentricities (including underwater charades and underwater performance art).

‘So what? Sod them!’, I hear you cry.

Well, unfortunately it’s not quite as simple as that. Being the closest thing to a village idiot that Brentwood is ever likely to see, my mind takes special preventative measures in order to conceal my idiocy when in the presence of such large groups of people. In essence, it shuts down completely.

This poses a particular problem when attempting to perform underwater charades, as reflected in this confrontation I had with my brain a fortnight ago.

‘Brian’, I said. (Brian happens to be the name of my brain. We both find this hilarious) ‘Do you think we could pull off The Matrix this week?’

‘Man, I ain’t charadin’ here’, he replied. ‘This place is mad bait'*

‘Oh, please’, I implored. ‘If not The Matrix, then perhaps Black Beauty?’

‘Look brah’, you need to quit this crazy biz fo’ real. Look they all be gawkin’ at you!’

‘I don’t care if people are watching. I want to play charades! Now, are you going to help me or not? ‘

‘Naw’.

“You’re useless!’, I cried, adding, ‘at times like this I begin to understand the benefits of lobotomy!’, just for good measure.

At this point Brian became angry and stormed off. We’re still not speaking, and I haven’t had any ideas for underwater charades, or remotely amusing blog entries since.

N.B - Tom returns from China next week, so expect normal service to resume then.

* As you’ve probably noticed, my brain is something of a wannabe gangsta.