Pool rage

This morning saw my sleepy person at the public pool, bright and early, where a great swim was had. There was, however, minor drama when I paused for a breather to chat with a girlfriend of mine who was there too. An older gentleman splooshed up to me and accused me of not getting out of the way before turning to swim back down the length of the pool (a circular lane system is in operation during busy periods).

I would have entertained his accusation had it not been an impossibility; I had been swimming two lanes over and meandered through rope and flesh to 'Hello' my friend, so I told him lightly "that might have been the case were I actually swimming in this lane," at which he looked around and pointed at the next nearest young person, "well then, it must have been him!"

Said young person - having only just entered the pool himself - was far less patient than I am, and told him where to take himself with his false accusations, and berated him again for accusing me in the first place - thanks, kind stranger who set off every gaydar I operate. Mild swearing match ensues, which I watch silently with more than a little delight, before a guard comes over to make sure that everything is alright. Continue swimming, that be that. Sigh, little old men can be awfully interesting; I hope I'm a lively character too when I'm pushing for retirement.

On a different front, I discovered that one of my dearest friends was in a serious car accident up in Scotland last week... "I went round a corner, avoiding something in the road, and on glancing in the mirrors to see what it was, I clipped the verge... it basically pulled me off the road, and I went head-on into a tree. The airbags went off and all, before I landed in a ten foot ditch on my side. I crawled out and managed to call my parents; someone who drove past called the police and an ambulance; I was taken to Aberdeen for x-rays as they thought I might have broken my neck."

Sigh. I've had enough of my list being added to without losing someone I really care about. Given, he is alive, and though he's not in a particularly good way, I am immeasurably relieved that his 'coming close' was not quite close enough.

This is the straight friend I confided in about my sexuality, during my early teens, when a tough situation had driven me unexpectedly into a really dark place, the one who, when I broke down, put his arm about my shoulder and made sure I knew that everything would be okay. He was perhaps the first friend that I knew I'd love forever; I'll be damned before I have to see him go.