School’s back, the house is quiet and it’s almost the weekend already. I’m off to Glasgow on Friday with a bunch of similarly mad people for the Scottish Open Masters swimming. Why, I ask myself, as I sit here stuffed up with a cold and a sore wrist to boot, did I think it might be a good idea? 800m frontcrawl is OK – it’s like going for a jog. You get going nice & steady and just don’t stop until someone tells you to. Kick hard on the last two lengths. But the 50m butterfly? What on earth possessed me? I’m hoping adrenalin will get me down the second length as technique and training certainly won’t. And then there’s a whole bunch more metres of frontcrawl in various combinations on Saturday, culminating in 50m – another sprint and I’m way too old to sprint, big breath, head down, go for broke. I should know by now to leave that to the 15 yr olds. Oh well, I’ll keep swallowing the cold remedies and ibuprofen for my wrist and hope there’s no drug testing for oldies. And I’ll report back next week.