Treading Water

It was the Constituency Meeting this week

Big night for the Tories. They had trailed the progress on the Swimming Baths as the subject for the night. We had two swimming clubs, various vaguely interested youngsters from John Willmott, couple of guys with no dog.

Oh!, and Dr Pocock.

And when the subject of the baths came up, we bowled into full water frolics mode.

The Redoubtable Howard had his guys splash through costs and benefits. The Constituency were blown away by the revelation that Hard Working Councillors had persuaded Birmingham to cough up £3.4m quid to invest in our (dry) baths.

This, on the face of it, was good news. This is not a wonderful time for anybody. Credit crunch has come to the West Midlands, purses have been tightened, belts have been tightened, getting the dosh was a triumph – a testament to the persuasive powers, the strategic negotiating skills of the twelve.

So here we were. Money flooding into Clifton Road, grateful citizens shouting ‘Huzza!’ and ‘Thanks for the Money’ and ‘Howard is a High Diver’.

Life seemed very sweet,

Somebody said was it alright if they asked a question

The question was welcomed with open arms.

‘Please, ask. What do you want to know? Do you want to know how long it would be before we can get our trunks on.’

‘No!’

‘What then?’.

‘What difference will it make?’

‘Pardon?’

‘What difference will it make? How will things be different?’

The High Diver took a deep breath. ‘You won’t notice.’

‘Sorry’

‘The improvements are structural. We opened it up, did what we had to, then put everything back. It’s a huge improvement,’

And the two swimming clubs, and the kids from John Willmott and the two guys without a dog. Nodded sagely and went home.

And so did Dr Pocock.

They all had but one word for the performance.

Wet.



Nightwatchman