The evolution of not giving a cr*p


Picture the scene – 1988 in the overheated foyer of a local swimming pool.  The place is heaving with high school students waiting for our swimming lesson.  I’m holding the plastic carrier bag containing my swimming things down low to the ground, hoping that this time it won’t be the subject of derision.  A Tesco bag was nearly as bad as a Grandways bag (ask your parents/a friend from Northern England over the age of 40)

The Pretty Ones have their green Benetton bags slung over their shoulders.  A proud marker of parental spending on the latest in European chic (or so it seemed to my insecure teenage mind).

Let’s fast-forward to 2017 – my first ‘adult improvers’ swimming lesson.  I have a fond chuckle to myself as I lift the reusable Aldi shopping bag from the passenger seat.  I have 3-weeks’ worth of stubble on my legs, unshaven armpits and a lovely Animal bikini that I bought on a recent mums’ surfing weekend.  I’m about to inhale serious amounts of water through my nose as I attempt front crawl for the first time.  I probably look rather strange in my black prescription goggles.  And I truly, deeply, do not give a cr*p about any of these things.

The lesson was one of the best things I’ve done for myself in a long time, and I can’t wait to go back next week.  I might even shave my legs, purely for streamlining purposes of course!




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