Month: February 2025

Most people at Vallantyne’s are in a state of relaxation or at least, those in the spa are. I am wondering if there is an alternative Vallantyne’s reality in which there is a lot of high-powered physical exercise going on by highly strung athletes and weight-lifters. There is some evidence for this in their advertising material and every now and then one of these individuals strays from that reality to this, betraying the existence of another world and leading us all to question which is the real one, and do we actually exist at all?

Hilda the Terrible took me entirely by surprise. Marc and I had done our parallel lengths in the fast lane and he and his speedos had taken to the sauna which is his preferred routine but not mine. I was celebrating the quietness of the hot tub and was thinking that I would enjoy one more bubble cycle when Hilda joined me. I offered my usual smile as she lowered herself in: an awkward moment as few manage the manoeuvre gracefully. There are unpredictable changes of depth that throw people off resulting in the threat of uncontrolled lunging and the resultant degree of physical acquaintance that is not socially acceptable.

Hilda was large but not fat: tall, broad and significant yet I was unprepared for how she would engage in conversation. I made the comment that I would have one more bubble before getting out to collect the children. She asked how many I have and about their ages: a fairly typical conversation so far except that her voice was much louder than anyone else’s in the spa, and very deep. I think she could probably be heard in the revolving doors at the entrance. The person attempting to come in may have gone round a couple of times in order to ascertain that it was safe to enter. I struggle to talk over the bubbles of the hot tub but she was all about projection. I have sometimes resorted to vague smiles when I have been entirely make to make out what someone says. Not in this case, unfortunately. Having described my family set up I was pleased to return the compliment and ask about hers. I tend to be quite cautious about asking those sorts of questions and take the asking of them as permission to enquire. Now Hilda’s voice was not only loud, it was furious. The person in the revolving doors is surely heading back outside to safety: a bomb is going off. Hilda has an adult son and grandchild neither of whom she sees because they demanded that she give up her work in order to provide free child care. She was entirely unwilling to do so and would I give up my work to provide free child care for a grand child? I was sitting fairly close to her in a small hot tub, definitely within arm’s reach and I’m certain she could take me down in a fight. I was in danger of being murdered by drowning. There was nothing for it but to be absolutely, definitively certain that I would never, ever give up my job to provide free child care to anyone.

Afterwards as I stood nervously in the shower I thought what else I might have said. That I might not be able to afford to give up my work. How I could see that that was an unreasonable expectation but that I wonder if there might be a way to reconcile so that she could have a relationship with her child and grand child. That the world is full of anger and misunderstanding, destroying lives and love. And that it might make things easier if she could just speak a little more quietly. 

There is an older lady I’ve seen a few times, not so very often but she is a favourite of mine. She’s the kind of person who always looks like she’s in command of herself and her situation. Her hair is always tidy, her make up miraculously unaffected by the fact that she is submerged in water. She swims a stately breaststroke, her head regal above the water. If she wore a crown it would be eternally secure. Her swimwear is black and flattering. She is never bloated. And she believes in good manners and would approve of my daily battle with my children, trying to instil in them the principle: Manners Matter. I think she is probably called Anne and l suspect it would be important to her that l should not forget the ‘e’ . Again, I sympathise. I have an overlooked ‘-kah’.

Anne doesn’t usually swim in the fast lane but there she was when I entered. She politely gave way to me at the end of the length. We exchanged a few words about the water being chilly yet even so it was lovely to have a swim. At about length ten of my thirty, we were joined by a lady l had not seen before. She was a committed front crawl swimmer but she wasn’t super fast. Not keeping up with me but outstripping Anne with ease.

There needn’t have been a problem but as I got to the farther end l heard an angry voice telling Anne she shouldn’t be swimming in the fast lane. This is not how we do things at Vallantyne’s, not in the afternoons anyway. I carried on swimming, noticing my heart rate had already gone up, and my mind was unquieted. I would just keep swimming, maybe attempt a smile at Anne.

The difficulty was that the Aggressive Woman had stopped in the fast lane in order to castigate Anne further. It wasn’t going to take me much longer to reach them. Then should I swim around her? Just turn at the obstacle and pretend nothing was happening?

As I approached, the angry woman addressed me. I did not need to remove my ear plugs. Evidently Anne was standing her ground and the woman wanted back up. Anne had been telling the woman she was being very rude. The woman appealed to me for confirmation that Anne should be swimming elsewhere.

“No, l don’t mind as long as she gives way at the ends.”

The woman got out. She’ll go back to being a morning swimmer if that’s what she usually is.

As I passed Anne swimming in the opposite direction I smiled at her. I agree. Manners matter!

Debz left me with more questions than answers. She was on a spa day on her own. l admire that. It is true that to take yourself out for a nice meal is an empowering experience. l used to take a book to read, now have developed to the point of putting it away as soon as my food arrives. The next step would be to go without altogether, although I might decide that I don’t want to feel compelled to give up something l enjoy for the sake of a concocted set of principles. Going for a solitary spa day seems like the next level for me to aspire to. Debz was definitely giving off strong woman vibes. Black swimsuit with a hint of bondage. A hair style that I think would include the word “shaggy” in its description. Short and funky, dyed a consistent brown plus a hint of purple. Purple lipstick somehow still on. Even if she wasn’t swimming, the hot tub is splashy so I would consider that impressive.

Debz had a loud voice, surprising dark chocolate in it and she was evidently ready for a chat. She was enjoying her day, the massage was good. I’ve thought about booking one but have never got around to it. Lunch was good too. She was cheerful and loud but having trouble with her speech which was a problem because she was a thing called a celebrant, although previously she had been a professional singer. I didn’t like to ask if she was too old for the singing now, or maybe the mysterious speech problem had been a factor. l couldn’t detect it myself.

A celebrant is a person who performs ceremonies and leads events like weddings, I think particularly for people who are not religious. She specialises in themed events, which was an area I hadn’t even considered as an area but that area belongs to Debz. You want someone pretending to be a pirate to marry you, Debz is the one you should call. I reckon she’d pull off a pretty great Jack Sparrow if that was your thing.

I felt very dull in comparison. I don’t regularly dress up as anything other than myself. l wondered if it might be fun to try and then immediately suspected it would not.

Debz was having a spa day because she’d been feeling stressed lately. She had a history of hitting her head on various concrete floors and damaging her spine. She had subsequently had various creeping numbness, transient speech production issues and odd tingling. I wonder if she was hoping I would turn out to be a neurologist because her symptoms were entirely alarming. I got as far as suggesting a second opinion as her GP wasn’t particularly interested or helpful. But she was quickly onto sourcing some purple fabric possibly to go with the purple hair. Something else l was entirely unable to help her with.

There are all sorts of people at Vallantyne’s, from many different walks of life. Some walks that I was entirely ignorant of. There should be someone who asks teenagers, “Have you thought about being a celebrant?”. It sounds like a lot of fun.

I arrived for my swim in the middle of the aqua class which was being run from the edge of the pool by Gavin. Gavin is an interesting man whose every word, gesture and movement including each aerobic manoeuvre, is delivered heavy-laden with irony. One suspects he doesn’t want to be there, or possibly anywhere. I had not previously appreciated how cycling shorts can be worn ironically but each lethargic and half-hearted leg lift demonstrated that capacity.

There was nothing to be done but to swim ironically up and down in the lane in front of all these bouncing ladies, between them and Gavin. Why not have the swimming lane behind the class? I’m not sure that I achieved ironic swimming. Gavin could show me how, I’m sure and there was no-one I recognised at all, not one friendly face.

“Come on ladies, you can do it! Faster now! And 1, 2…” He didn’t fill me with belief. I think the ladies slowed down a little.

“That’s it. Amazing job. 1, 2, 3…”

He demonstrated each movement on the 1 and 2, then stood on the side of the pool counting. His timing didn’t match the motivating music with which he was competing to make himself heard whilst determined to lose out to it, and even though I wasn’t joining the class, I suddenly found myself unable to coordinate my movements. I managed eight lengths in the turbulent water and found that was enough for me. I would spend the rest of the class out in the hot tub. The class moved into the final stretching section which Gavin completed with no more sincerity than the rest of the class. That might be a good thing; a deeply emotional aqua aerobics class would be a bit much. He announced that he would see everybody next week sounding as though he was hoping to have a stroke over the weekend.

Bernadette joined me in the hot tub, followed by a lady of East Asian heritage. Sometimes there are consequences to face when you make the mistake of starting someone off. I started Bernadette off with an inane comment about the benefits of exercising in water. It turned out that Bernadette was excessively proud of her 80 years. And her biceps. And her 36DD breasts which she handled to illustrate her point. During a pause in conversation the other lady complimented me on my swimwear and asked where I had purchased it. Bernadette pointed out that my costume would be insufficiently reinforced to manage her cleavage which is not a concern given that I have no wish to accommodate her breast tissue in my swimwear. Bernadette has difficulty finding swimwear but can buy any clothes she wants to buy because they are so cheap nowadays, though not of the same quality as they used to be. But so cheap! Of course at that price there must be exploitation. If I had known what was coming next I would have got out much earlier, or possibly had something ready to say in response. Bernadette turned to the other lady.

“I mean, you would know, with all the factories in China.”

The lady smiled and nodded. I got out. Not only were there no friendly faces, there was no-one I knew at all and conversation revolved around another example of overt racism which everyone pretended was fine. I’m not sure I belong here. The lady I had been sitting with may have felt the same.

Today it was just me and Hagans and his swimming paddles in the fast lane, or so l thought until l surreptitiously examined his shoulder tattoos. Hagans has “Hagans” written across his shoulders. The clues are there. The Real Hagans looks much the same as Not Hagans but Not Hagans is not the Real Hagans. Not Hagans does not have shoulder tattoos. In mistaking Not Hagans for the Real Hagans, I realised that a cursory glance is not enough to say you know someone. I have started to think l know everyone at Vallantyne’s but there is more to learn. Not Hagans has better swimming technique too, I think perhaps assisted by his swimming paddles. 

Once I had done my lengths, I got the hot tub to myself. In fact, there are two and the other one was occupied by the Three Tools. I don’t know if I’ve seen these particular ones before but they are a type. Young, just broadened out but haven’t put the beer belly on yet and they really, really want our attention. Not any one person’s attention, more that they need to be noticed by everyone which is peculiar given our collective demographic.

They were doing lots of very loud laughing and looking around, making sure we had all spotted them there, thinking they are having a better time then us. And then they make the inevitable mistake of being disrespectful towards someone, and thereby everyone of us. They may not realise it, but everyone is a “we” and they make themselves a “them”.

They joined Not Hagans in the fast lane. Compared to others of their type they made a particularly poor job of it. Usually, a Tool will perform a macho and technically abominable attempt at front crawl, managing a maximum of two lengths before withdrawing, puffing desperately for air and red in the face. This is the moment to make a joke about last night’s alcohol consumption. Hilarious. Then they will go in the sauna which they stay in for too long. When they emerge they look ready to pass out. It must be exhausting being one of The Tools.

These guys just kind of drifted around in the fast lane without any evidence of a swimming stroke and it was curious how they faced the wrong direction despite the signage and Not Hagans’ example. Not Hagans whipped them with inexorable dignity, maintaining his calm and efficient stroke, a wave of water preceding him and completely ignoring The Tools. Maybe they were trying to laugh at him. Their faces carried mockery but we were all with him. And as he continued, back and forth, they clearly couldn’t even attempt to keep up. Maybe that was why they didn’t try for a macho-length. They had no chance. He didn’t even need to notice them. They did not have his attention, not for a second. They might as well have never been there.

I hope Pauline didn’t notice them either. We coincided as I was getting out and she was getting in. She’s a good swimmer and looks the part: sporty swimsuit and matching swimming hat, which takes things to the next level. We passed a comment on the water temperature and another on the busyness of the pool. She was hoping for the spot alongside the divide between slow and fast lane. It turns out that, despite being quicker than the majority of the slow lane and plenty of the fast lane, she is too intimidated to use it. l had always thought she came across as a confident person and she’s definitely one of the stronger swimmers in the pool. She has a point. The politics of the fast lane can be intimidating. It is affirming that it’s not just in my head, though l am sorry for it. I hope she didn’t encounter the Tools. They don’t do anyone any good.

I’m always reassured when someone joins me in the hot tub. I’m not so scary or off-putting that someone has to decide to give up the bubble rather than sit in it with me. And you never know what conversation might be coming.

Marianne was a refreshing surprise. She was significantly older than me and carefully turned out which is not the same as me, a voice pitched at a higher frequency than I had expected and a lovely honesty about being there for the sole purpose of relaxation. She was not planning on attempting to exercise. There would be no token lengths for her. She was unapologetic. Then a comment that resonated with me.

“I prefer it when the bubbles are off. I like the calm.”

The two hot tubs take it in turns to bubble, a cycle of four minutes on, four minutes off.

“If the other one was quiet, I’d get out of this one when the bubbles. start and get in that one.”

For all the ways Marianne and I are different, I agree. It’s nicer when it’s calm. There’s always something.

No Paul today.

I forgot my goggles and the spare pair in my bag had warped so it was a slow lane day for me. Somehow without goggles I can’t convince my brain that it is safe to breathe under water and so I find myself unable to breathe at all. The plus side of that was a bit more interaction with Paul. He is observant enough to notice that I was early and had no goggles.

“Nice today, isn’t it? Just the right number of people. Not too busy but not too quiet.”

My natural instinct is to feel that it can’t be too quiet. If I was there by myself l would be thrilled, at first at least. Then it might be a bit unnerving. But really, Paul is right. It is better when there are people there and it’s good to talk to them. Paul did have a foray into the fast lane, I think just for the fun of it. It was there and empty so then no rules apply. And a lady threw her woggle into the box and I saw no evidence that she had bitten it.

And a very large man joined me in the hot tub. It is true to say that there are quite a lot of people with significant weight issues at Vallantyne’s. I don’t feel the advertising material is truly representative of their client group, particularly not the woman with airbrushed legs because no legs are that shape. Vallantyne’s does have identity issues. It doesn’t accept itself for who it really is: the home of the aged and the leisurely yet that’s why we all like it.

I wanted to ask the very large man in the hot tub, Dave, why he kept washing himself with the hot tub water. A rapid swoosh and scrub, barely long enough to be a proper wash but not clearly anything other than the gesture I would use in the shower when washing. I didn’t much want to sit in someone else’s suds so tried to concoct some other motivation for the movement. Maybe his intention was to put the warm water over his exposed and therefore chilly parts? Or maybe as his skin dries it in some way feels tight, and a quick rinse is required to loosen things up? Or maybe he was just washing. I got out without asking him. But Dave, I don’t really think that’s appropriate hot tub behaviour, thanks. I wonder how you would formulate a sign to convey the message. I will suggest, “please do NOT wash in the hot tub, with or without cleansing products”.