The creature from the pink lagoon

I've always been a hefty lass but being about 5' 9" I've always been able to carry it well. That was until I had a kidney transplant and endured 12 months of steroid therapy afterwards. Combine that with being thrust prematurely into the menopause and it's a recipe for disaster - for my waistline anyway. Post-transplant/hysterectomy I have gained over 25 kilos, in old money that's nearly 60 lbs or 4 stone!

Hurrumph.

Since we decided we would go for our big return to normal life with a fabulous holiday to Florida I have been desperately trying to shift the weight, fearing the humiliation of being stuck in my plane seat for 7 hours or worse being booted off like Silent Bob for being too damn big.

Thus my exercise of choice has been swimming. We swim twice a week at a privately owned pool. It costs about £10 to hire for an hour but being the only two people in at any given time it is worth the cost. Plus there's a jacuzzi.

Cap'n Scarlet has become worryingly obsessed with my weight loss or lack thereof (actually, I have managed to shift about 3 kgs but it isn't coming off as quickly as he would like which is actually really getting me down because actually I self-flagellate over my inabilities enough for the both of us already actually, I don't actually need extra criticism from him but that's another story, actually).

I am calm. Soooo, this week I added a solo extra session while he was out line dancing. Yes you read that right, line dancing. In the words of Forrest Gump that is all I have to say about that.

Last night I arrived at the home of my friend the pool owner to discover that she had had a Valentine party over the weekend. Nothing unusual about that you might think but she had in fact also spiced up the pool.

It had been dyed a a dark red. Now 3 days later the pool was a cloudy magenta. My swimming goggles are blue which meant that I was effectively swimming in dark purple water. Creepy? I should cocoa, especially when I kept encountering the kids' toys which were being dislodged from their lurking places by my fevered thrashing.

Valentine's Day? More like the Texas Chain Saw Massacre. I'm going again tonight, at least I won't be alone, at least I shall have a superfit line dancer with me to fend off the nasties.