Kevin has just taken Daisy to the baths, which makes me feel like a good parent, vicariously. She is wildly excited (it’s been an awfully long time since we’ve been), and it’s all a bit unfortunate that the website with the opening times on appears to have lied to him.

It says, as clear as day, that the pool is open from 7.15am to 4pm on a Sunday. So arriving at 7.45am should present no problems at all - except that he’s just rung to double check, because the place appears to be shut up.

On investigation of other pools in the city, none of them are open this early on a Sunday, and all the way through the conversation I could hear Daisy in the background, trying really hard to sound reasonable in the face of Daddy’s apparent forgetting of what they’d gone out to do.

“Shall we go to the swimming baths, Daddy?”

“Let’s go to the swimming baths.”

“We could go to the swimming baths, Daddy.”

The poor child was obviously running a gauntlet between trying to get Daddy back on track, and potentially scuppering the whole trip by being told off for being rude. She will be gutted if he doesn’t find her a pool to play in, pretty soon.

Drat Garston Leisure Centre and their inability to maintain their own web page.