My eyes hurt. I hate swimming. Where’s the fun?

Soaking your face in chlorine is a drag.

You smell funny, even when shower’s done,

Then carry home your wet things in a bag.

Still, in school swimming lessons I could brag

And demonstrate a good front crawl technique

(Though rather slow), but where I’d really flag

Was front crawl foot action. I felt so weak

After two lengths at swimming club midweek

Holding a float, by all overtaken,

Even small girls. ‘This surely ain’t my bag.’

I quit mid-’75 at the peak

Of mediocrity. Preferred to run

Or cycle after that. Or smoke a fag.