Tuesday 12th October

Some people just seem to revel in going out of their way to make my life more difficult. What with trips away and various other commitments, the regular Tuesday night swim has largely gone for a burton in recent weeks; which is a shame as I was starting to really enjoy it and feel that I was maybe getting somewhere. Now, though, the thoughtful folk at Haringey Council have decided to initiate something called HBSC - which is, rather than a misspelt Far Eastern banking corporation, some sort of special swimming club.

This "club" now takes up lanes at Park Road swimming pool every single evening of the week, cutting down the normal lane swimming even more than normal. As was made clear to K and I last time we tried to go, the pool is very popular in the evenings with regular lane swimmers - so of course it makes perfect sense to restrict that further and to put more bloody lessons in. Even more frustrating is the fact that the only evening devoted to lane swimming is Wednesday, which is women's only night. I appreciate that women's only night is probably a good thing to put on, but it raises one tiny question: when the staggering fuck are men supposed to go swimming?

But alas, Haringey won't help me there. So I either don't go, or go when the pool is rammed full of kids taking lessons, adults taking lessons, or (at the weekend) kids and families pissing about. Or I stand outside on a Wednesday night with a placard protesting Haringey Council's policy of gender inequality. None are really good options, are they?

Nevertheless, I decide to try and go for a swim this evening. The day at work hasn't been particularly enjoyable, with far too much to do and far too many cooks spoiling an, at best, average broth on one especially troublesome front. As such, I'm really, really hoping that swimming goes OK. I walk up to the pool straight from work and pay my £3.80 for one adult swim. On getting into the pool area, my worst fears are confirmed. The pool is divided up into five lanes, the outer two of which are being used for children's lessons, while one of the middle three is this HBSC club. I climb down into one of the middle two, which are about one-and-a-half swimming people wide, and start doing my usual 30 lengths.

Things aren't too bad, until I'm forced into the fast lane by people standing at either end doing nothing, which contains a girl wearing flippers (for fuck's sake) and Mr Johnny Big Bollocks aggressively overtaking everyone daring to swim at their own pace. Needless to say, this is not the most relaxing bit of exercise I've ever taken - and by the time I decide to finally give up I've got a pounding headache just from anger. Going for a simple swim after work really shouldn't be this horrific, should it?

I get dried and head home, where lovely K is making a delicious dinner. I explain my horrible, frustrating day to her and she sympathises (though she's OK, she still has ladies' night!) while we watch the penultimate episode of Mad Men.