Today I did something which I've not done for thirty years or more.  As I'd expected, I was spectacularly out of practise but it was definitely fun and I have every intention of repeating the experience.  Richard joined in, too, which made it even more fun. I'm talking about swimming, of course.  When I was a child, our family group swam on most Sundays.  We had a circuit of different pools which we'd go to - Warrington Baths was a favourite, though it has since been demolished, as has Leigh Baths which we also used. Dad would never swim; he hated the very idea, and the most I ever recall him doing was paddling in ankle-deep sea water in Cornwall, his trousers rolled up to his knees.  Mum loved swimming.  One time, she decided to try doing the butterfly stroke.  At least, that's what she insisted it was after the lifeguard's whistle had emptied the pool and she'd been rescued.  How was he to know that the plumes of frantic splashing eru...