Pool Rules

This inabilty to post photos on here is becoming very frustrating. I wanted to insert the vintage swimming pool poster, 'Would patrons kindly refrain from..........'. You know the one. White background, red headline and 9 cartoon pics of swimmers enjoying forbidden activities such as smoking (?!?), running, pushing and, ahem, petting. Its purpose was to demonstrate the inanity of some of those rules. The one I'd expected to see was, 'no swimming soon after eating' but alas, it wasn't there. I did however come across an up to date version featuring thongs, bling, games consoles and mobiles as banned items.

Still no mention of swimming on a full stomach. Perhaps there was some truth in the discussion tonight on QI , where Stephen Fry claimed there was no evidence to show that this was dangerous. It didn't stop my parents using it as an excuse for avoiding an afternoon at the local baths, not does it prevent me using it as a pretext for staying home. I have quite a few excuses come to think of it. If a recent waxing means I can't use the 'spiders' legs' get-out, I promise to take the chiddlers just as soon as they've tidied their rooms, confident in the knowledge that it will never happen. I like safe bets.

I wish there'd been a few sensible rules posted poolside in our Florida holiday let. 'Don't push mobile carrying friends into water' would have saved Pots' phone and, 'Don't fire party poppers in around the pool' would have helped us avoid declaring war, armed with litres of industrial strength bleach and scrubbing brush, on the white painted patio. Not what you need on New Years Day with a raging hangover, but Aggie did a great job! I think she'd been having withdrawal symptoms. Four days without Domestos! The fumes, which made my eyes stream, acted like hair of the dog for her and by lunchtime, she was ready to hit the malls.

I, on the other hand, was left home alone with my 'dying' husband. I say dying, because he was convinced that his heart would stop beating if he fell asleep. I spent the afternoon lying there, watching the rise and fall of his chest, trying to convince him (and myself) that it WAS just a hangover resulting from his share of a 2 litre bottle of Vodka, 4 cans of Red Bull and 2 bottles of red. The infamous energy drink didn't give him wings that day.

Maybe we should have observed the rule about 'No alcohol in the jacuzzi area'. Perchance then my party shoe wouldn't have ended up in the filter.

Get your t**s out for the girls!

It's official. This year I'll be donning my customised bra (there's a job for the 19th June), lacing up my Adidas trainers (kindly donated by my friend in the marketing department there - snail mail is so slooooooooooooooow; let's hope they arrive in time for me to break them in ;-0) and joining a herd of other mad cows on the Moonwalk. Twenty six miles around Edinburgh in the dead of night.

I have to say I'm quite excited because the scottish capital is one of my favourite cities. Many moons ago, I almost took a place at college there but instead, I opted for the Lancastrian fields of gold. To think , for three years I endured being surrounded by Prestonian babble, when I could have been serenaded by the gentle tones of the Edinburgers. Rather than chomping on Umberto's fish and chips, I'd have been munching deep fried Mars Bars on the way home from the Student Union drinks promo night.

I consoled myself in the knowledge that I was closer to my boyfriend of 2 years and able to live the Manchester scene every other weekend. It was a pretty cool place to be in the early 90s and anyway, Edinburgh would still be there when I graduated, even if my boyfriend wasn't.

I didn't return until I was married and pregnant. Eight months into it in fact, at the end of a long, hot summer pregnancy. The idea was to enjoy our last romantic weekend of peace and tranquility before Pinky (or Felix as he was then known) arrived. Not that waddling up the City's hilly streets, bloated and out of breath was very romantic. Nor was developing heartburn as my meal arrived or falling asleep as soon as my head hit the tartan pillowcase.

I can assure my sponsors (go on - dig deep, it's all in aid of Breast Cancer) that'll I'll have more stamina this year. I reckon that if I fill up my Camelbak with Red Bull and keep up my blood sugar levels with deep fried Mars, I should walk it!