My eyes hurt. I hate swimming. Where’s the fun?
Soaking your face in chlorine is a drag.
You smell funny, even when shower’s done,
Then carry home your wet things in a bag.
Still, in school swimming lessons I could brag
And demonstrate a good front crawl technique
(Though rather slow), but where I’d really flag
Was front crawl foot action. I felt so weak
After two lengths at swimming club midweek
Holding a float, by all overtaken,
Even small girls. ‘This surely ain’t my bag.’
I quit mid-’75 at the peak
Of mediocrity. Preferred to run
Or cycle after that. Or smoke a fag.
Sun 4 May 2008
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