Swimming

Last week there was a holiday for the exhausted bankers. So while they were counting all the money they've fleeced from us we met up with my sister Pauline and her son Sam at the swimming pool in Felixstowe. This was Alastair's first time in a pool. He had his gastrostomy and tracheostomy surgically reversed in summer 2007 and we wanted to avoid the pools over the winter, but now seemed as good a time as any to take the plunge.

Those of you familiar with the British phenomenon of defensive life, aka child protection, may wonder how on earth we were even able to take photos in the swimming pool. Indeed, my sister had to sign a form handed to her by the lifeguard giving her name, address, phone number and reason for our snaps.

The boys were none the wiser and seemed to enjoy the experience, though Alastair communicated to me that it was colder than the bath. I had to agree, but reminded him it was warmer than the sea. Sam was a godsend and looked after Gregor brilliantly so that I could take care of Adi without a problem. That's another reason we've left it so long - managing two on your own is not recommended, even with armbands.

Misha doesn't like pools at the best of times and the local Lowestoft one is freezing. The time slot for parents and toddlers there is 8-10 on a Sunday morning, which is far from civilised, I think.

After our 45 minute swim we hired these motorised boats and buzzed around in the lake outside the leisure centre. Gregor kept egging Sam on to go faster and crash us, as if Sam needed any encouragement.