Day 3: Chlorine popsicle

I woke up this morning, correction, I was woken this morning at an ungodly hour, I should add, by who else? - The Lish - demanding I put a DVD on.  I'll admit, I cracked.  I did all the things I've been trying hard not to do all week and then I put the DVD on. But I've decided I'm setting a new rule that no-one, talks or moves before 8am on a holiday or weekend.  To help the little one understand what 8am looks like, I'm buying one of those alarm clocks with eyes, specifically designed for whacko kids who, no matter what time they went to bed, no matter how tired they were (or tired out) the night before, still wake up at 6:30am.  You can set the eyes to open at a specified time.  So basically - you don't so much as fart before those eyes are open or there will be hellfire to pay.

After that little morning battle, I just couldn't face a jungle jim despite having proposed the activity myself. The fact is, I hate the damn places. They remind me of the loneliest and most depressing time of my life in Canada.  They also smell of feet.  Canucks prefer to call them, indoor playgrounds and since most of the country is under 9 feet of snow for 6 months of the year, you can understand why there were so many of them over there.  Yet every time I took The Lish, I was usually the only person there besides a bewildered Bangladeshi at the checkout, no doubt questioning the decision to have left a warm (if somewhat humid) paddy field for this shit.  What or where other Canadian children do for 6 months of the year in Ontario remains a secret.  And no, they are not slicing the powder on some breathtaking slope cos there aren't any worth skiing on in Ontario.  None.  So I imagine they are all sitting in the basement eating Cheetos practicing for a life of obesity. 

But I digress.  So I vetoed the jungle jim on the grounds of emotional trauma and instead decided to take The Lish to one of London's few open air pools.  It's in the heart of London too.  One could say the capital's best kept secret.  One could say that or one could say it's not going to win any prizes any time soon. 

Here see for yourself.  That 3-tier gallery around the side there? Not a gallery.  They are council flats full of gypos that overlook the pool 365 days of the year.  Smoking their fags and having their dole arguments in full view of the unsuspecting Londoner who thinks he's just hit the jackpot by finding this place on an otherwise stuffy summer London day.



Also, the sun decided to hide behind the clouds the moment we stepped into our swimming costumes and didn't come back out until our lips had gone a deep shade of purple and our bodies began to show the first signs of hypothermia. By which point, we were done. Nice try. At least it only cost a £1 to get in.  Again, you can  understand why.  We found the nearest park and lay like sardines for 2 hours as we waited for our core temperatures to rise enough for circulation to return.  Again, I do believe that was the nicest part of the day for me.


So tomorrow, while like today the forecast is low 20s - I think I'll believe it when I see it and instead am planning an activity that does not require the removal of undergarments.  I'm thinking museum.  There are so many to choose from in London, we are really spoiled and they are all free.  So I may just mosey on down to South Kensington and do a kind of museum crawl.  The Natural History, Science (which has a kind of jungle type jim for eggheads and boffin children) and Victoria & Albert museums are within a minute's walk from eachother.  Or I may just go to the Southbank to the Tate Modern to see the Miro exhibit.   Or I may just lie on a rug in the park as this has by far been the most rewarding of all activities...nice to know children still do ultimately appreciate the simple pleasures in life.

Whatever we do end up doing, it will mark the end of the first ever holiday utterly dedicated to mothering since I became one.  I shall reserve judgement and Lishy's review of it all until then.