Tadpoles are Good at That.

I was floating serenely on my back. It seems all those extra layers of fat magically counteract the effect of gravity in the deep end of the pool. I can fold my arms behind my head and drift away. With my eyes closed I can imagine floating in a warm tropical sea with the water gently lapping at my side. All is peace and tranquillity until I am splashed in the face. It’s not the life guard who is trying to ‘revive’ me, though he is hovering close by, instead it’s ‘Mr Cheerful’.
‘I thought you were dead,’ he says with a comment that has earned him his nickname. ‘You looked like a dead tadpole,’ he continues eyeing me critically.
‘Thanks,’ I say spinning around and looking for open water, but there’s no escape I’m hemmed in.
‘I’m surprised they let you in,’ he says his false teeth wobbling dangerously loose. ‘This is the swim for the over-sixties you know.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, ‘but it’s listed as being for the over fifties.’
I wait for the compliment. Something along the lines of, ‘You can’t be over fifty,’ would be a good start.’ I tread water patiently.
‘Mr Cheerful’ is spitting water. ‘Well,’ he finally says with surprise. ‘I guess they just let anyone in these days.’
‘I guess so,’ I say.
I’m bobbing in the deep end with gentle kicks to keep afloat. ‘Mr Cheerful’ is attempting to bob alongside me but is rapidly sinking, he is forced to make a grab for the rail and I have at last a chance to swim away.
I realise I’m out of his range if I swim in the middle of the pool. Here I am safe.
I am changed and feeding my wristband into the machine waiting for it to cough up my pound coin when he suddenly reappears at my side. He’s been lurking waiting for me. I realise I’m being stalked by a pond-life predator. I manage to slip away and wriggle free: tadpoles are good at that!