Valentine's Day

As I hobbled my approach to the divine blue depths of the Chamonix baths I noticed a number of training floats poised at the end of each length, which I was relieved to see. It had potential of a slighter slower pace than usual, which normally constitutes rippling butterfly steaming performances by seemingly, all the swimmers except myself. How much faster can they really be than I, thought I, with my one active leg to their double floated immobility, but straight away of course, I was massively mistaken and there squirmed I, almost swimming in circles with my right leg going mental and my left one floating flaccidly to the surface whilst the stampedes of tremendous atheletes continued to lap me every ten metres of so. Five minutes into my rehab swim, I felt an unusual sensation that I can only associate with swimming in the great wild depths of the Baltic Sea. And there it was explained, my six year old cozzie that I bought from that huge sports shop in the Arndale that constantly has the 70% off sale had torn right off my half working carcass. An impressively stealthy mission of tying up straps was achieved at surprising speed however + the much needed water voyage could continue further.

When I finally got out to meet my sweet Valentine at MBC bar however, I couldn't help feeling intense levels of relief + my appetite for their micro brewed wheat beer became healthier than ever, if that's at all possible.