May 2, 2002
9 a.m. is Vincent's favourite time to go swimming. He loves the smell of chlorine in the morning. By nine, he's missed the arseholes who rise at dawn and cause havoc in the fast lane before departing for joyless jobs as estate agents and traffic wardens. Vincent prefers a more leisurely pace, floating in the slow lane amongst the elderly ladies doing backstroke and pot-bellied men struggling with doggie paddle. As he swims, he lets the melody from the ‘Blue Danube' float through his head. If he's lucky he remembers to close his mouth as abandoned verruca plasters float by.