Two boys drag each other, by the leg, into the shallows. Back and forth: chasing, splashing.
It doesn’t look any fun. Being dragged by your leg in water, with your head mostly in the water. Are they breathing enough? Are they encouraged to be violent with each other?
Did they argue earlier, has the ‘game’ turned nasty?
However, is it really any of my concern? I decide to leave them to it.
Later, there they are again. Still dragging.
‘Are you still playing that game?’
I don’t get it. So I ask: a leading question, but I inject some sarcasm, just in case, as I suspect…
‘Is it, like, the best game ever?’
‘Yes. It is the BEST game ever.’
They grin, one grabs the other by the leg, and off they go.
What would I know?
Today I have been thinking about … swimming.
Euch, swimming. A necessary evil in the holidays, outstripped only by requests for Minecraft, or for me to finally relent and download Pokemon Go.
‘But swimming, really?’ I ask. ‘It’s such a lovely day.’
I am informed that lovely days don’t have flumes in them. Not yet. So off we go. I stand out of the water, wearing less than I would ever voluntarily clothe myself in. My teeth chatter in time with the anxiety ringing in my ears as they whoosh down the flumes. Then another ten minutes of queuing. Fun, right?
The worry lessens after the third go. I find some tinyspace and float peacefully. The heavy weightlessness buoys me up and away to a pleasant dreamland.
I love the post-swim clean feeling too. (I know, I know, it’s just chlorine.)