Thursday, July 20, 2006
The swimming pool
Yesterday, Dave persuaded me to accompany him for a refreshing dip after work at our local public swimming pool, known as 'The Cally Pool' because of its location on grimy/up and coming Caledonian Road near King's Cross.
It took him quite a long time to persuade me, because I am a member of Esporta Islington, which has a wonderful, clean, quiet, peaceful, adult-only pool. I felt sure Dave could have come along there with me for a free trial. But Dave insisted he could not bear the thought of the hard sell from the gym staff, and I could understand that.
I suggested we go to Hampstead Heath to swim in the ponds for free, but Dave said he wouldn't swim anywhere 'you can't see the bottom'.
I STILL had my reservations about Cally Pool, because the last time I'd been to a public swimming pool (the one at Highbury Corner) the dirt and discomfort of the whole place was really quite appalling!
I kept thinking, don't children wee in the water in these places? Don't hairy men with fungal infections leave grime everywhere? Aren't the changing rooms full of screaming out of control toddlers (God love 'em)?
But yesterday was the hottest July day since 1911 and darn it, it really wasn't worth getting in a squeamish, snooty flap about the possible infections one might pick up in a public pool.
After all, I was being a total snob about this. Growing up in Oxford I went regularly to swim at the local Ferry Centre Pool and it was fine - spacious and clean. Just because I am now used to a private adults-only pool does not mean there is anything wrong with ones open to the public.
So off we went. I'm sure you know where this story's heading.
Cally Pool was HORRIFIC.
Beyond belief in a first world country. It was the kind of pool you'd have expected to find in Communist Romania.
Stepping off the 35c street into the reception area, we found some clever Council bod had had the brilliant idea of turning the reception into a steam room. I'd forgotten what midday in Singapore felt like until that moment.
The ladies' changing room was heated at a similar breathtaking humidity, but what really made me flinch with discomfort was the utter filth of the place! There were grey puddles of water and heaps of black dirt all over the floor and all the surfaces. The layout of the room was extremely narrow, so that the changers had to squeeze past one another, or, too embarrassed to do so, simply had to queue in single file to get from one area (the lockers, say) to another (the shower). I REALLY didn't want to take off my sandals to leave them in the locker as the level of dirt on the floor was so disgusting.
Heading to the pool I found Dave smiling in the water, totally relaxed. Meanwhile I was feeling unhinged by the dirt everywhere - it really was enough to make your skin creep. There was only ONE LANE available to swim in because the other two were occupied by splashing children. Don't get me wrong, I love children, but they really didn't make the pool very tranquil. The lane was so packed we could hardly move without some hairy guy kicking our faces, and it was so shallow the water only came up to my hips (I'm 5 ft 3!)
I managed 4 lengths before realising I simply was not enjoying myself, in fact that this was hell on earth. Dave very gamely tried to make the best of the place and stayed in the pool but I had a hissy fit and stomped off to the changing room vowing never to swim in a public pool again.
Back in the changing room I found that in keeping with the Soviet theme, there were no private shower cubicles or curtains so that everyone had to strip off in public. It was the kind of place where little boys are running around in the women's changing rooms and husbands are poking their noses in the door and I just couldn't go naked, so I had to shower with my swimsuit on, which is gross.
I felt so dirty after that shower, but at least I could put my sandals back on and get my feet off that hairy, mushy, dusty floor.
Finally, insult of insults, I went to dry my hair and found you have to insert a 20p coin to use a hairdryer!
It was so humid my hair was already drying and by now I was enraged with the feeling of being dirty, so I just went back to wait for Dave in reception. Now I recalled how we'd paid £6.80 for the two of us. If you went swimming three times a week at this place it would only cost half as much as if you joined a private gym, and I understand many people can't afford to pay more, but still for the level of provision I think £6.80 extortionate. 80p per person would be more appropriate.
Finally we left, me ranting and raving, unable to believe how terrible it had been, Dave telling me I'm a rampant snob and to stop being so ridiculous. Back home I had to have another shower to get the 'athlete's foot' sensation off me!
I would much rather go swimming in Hampstead Ponds than Cally Road any day, and if I had children I'd never let them set barefoot in one of those changing rooms. I really don't think anything could match the depressing nature of that pool.
It took him quite a long time to persuade me, because I am a member of Esporta Islington, which has a wonderful, clean, quiet, peaceful, adult-only pool. I felt sure Dave could have come along there with me for a free trial. But Dave insisted he could not bear the thought of the hard sell from the gym staff, and I could understand that.
I suggested we go to Hampstead Heath to swim in the ponds for free, but Dave said he wouldn't swim anywhere 'you can't see the bottom'.
I STILL had my reservations about Cally Pool, because the last time I'd been to a public swimming pool (the one at Highbury Corner) the dirt and discomfort of the whole place was really quite appalling!
I kept thinking, don't children wee in the water in these places? Don't hairy men with fungal infections leave grime everywhere? Aren't the changing rooms full of screaming out of control toddlers (God love 'em)?
But yesterday was the hottest July day since 1911 and darn it, it really wasn't worth getting in a squeamish, snooty flap about the possible infections one might pick up in a public pool.
After all, I was being a total snob about this. Growing up in Oxford I went regularly to swim at the local Ferry Centre Pool and it was fine - spacious and clean. Just because I am now used to a private adults-only pool does not mean there is anything wrong with ones open to the public.
So off we went. I'm sure you know where this story's heading.
Cally Pool was HORRIFIC.
Beyond belief in a first world country. It was the kind of pool you'd have expected to find in Communist Romania.
Stepping off the 35c street into the reception area, we found some clever Council bod had had the brilliant idea of turning the reception into a steam room. I'd forgotten what midday in Singapore felt like until that moment.
The ladies' changing room was heated at a similar breathtaking humidity, but what really made me flinch with discomfort was the utter filth of the place! There were grey puddles of water and heaps of black dirt all over the floor and all the surfaces. The layout of the room was extremely narrow, so that the changers had to squeeze past one another, or, too embarrassed to do so, simply had to queue in single file to get from one area (the lockers, say) to another (the shower). I REALLY didn't want to take off my sandals to leave them in the locker as the level of dirt on the floor was so disgusting.
Heading to the pool I found Dave smiling in the water, totally relaxed. Meanwhile I was feeling unhinged by the dirt everywhere - it really was enough to make your skin creep. There was only ONE LANE available to swim in because the other two were occupied by splashing children. Don't get me wrong, I love children, but they really didn't make the pool very tranquil. The lane was so packed we could hardly move without some hairy guy kicking our faces, and it was so shallow the water only came up to my hips (I'm 5 ft 3!)
I managed 4 lengths before realising I simply was not enjoying myself, in fact that this was hell on earth. Dave very gamely tried to make the best of the place and stayed in the pool but I had a hissy fit and stomped off to the changing room vowing never to swim in a public pool again.
Back in the changing room I found that in keeping with the Soviet theme, there were no private shower cubicles or curtains so that everyone had to strip off in public. It was the kind of place where little boys are running around in the women's changing rooms and husbands are poking their noses in the door and I just couldn't go naked, so I had to shower with my swimsuit on, which is gross.
I felt so dirty after that shower, but at least I could put my sandals back on and get my feet off that hairy, mushy, dusty floor.
Finally, insult of insults, I went to dry my hair and found you have to insert a 20p coin to use a hairdryer!
It was so humid my hair was already drying and by now I was enraged with the feeling of being dirty, so I just went back to wait for Dave in reception. Now I recalled how we'd paid £6.80 for the two of us. If you went swimming three times a week at this place it would only cost half as much as if you joined a private gym, and I understand many people can't afford to pay more, but still for the level of provision I think £6.80 extortionate. 80p per person would be more appropriate.
Finally we left, me ranting and raving, unable to believe how terrible it had been, Dave telling me I'm a rampant snob and to stop being so ridiculous. Back home I had to have another shower to get the 'athlete's foot' sensation off me!
I would much rather go swimming in Hampstead Ponds than Cally Road any day, and if I had children I'd never let them set barefoot in one of those changing rooms. I really don't think anything could match the depressing nature of that pool.
# posted by Olivia @ 6:29 pm 
