Saying Goodbye to my Childhood Swimming Pool.

I don’t remember my first swimming lesson, but it has attained almost monumental status in our family folklore. According to legend, whilst the other three year-olds in my class got into the water with no fuss , I refused to follow them and remained on the side of the learner pool, the picture of anguish and fear in Pink Panther armbands. In the end, my mum was obliged to borrow a swimming costume from another mother and accompany me into the water for the rest of the lesson (sorry, Mum!) From this ignoble beginning however, I must have decided I quite liked swimming, because going to the pool became a twice-weekly fixture in my life for the next twenty years.

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Bodies of Light: A Morning Swim at Sant' Alvise.

Whenever my mother goes away, she always tries to find a local pool to swim in. Even if there’s a pool at the hotel, perhaps especially if there’s a pool at the hotel, she’ll always try and find a nearby place to have a swim. My dad finds the spirit of new places by taking photographs and I go grocery shopping, but my mother finds her way into a new location by doing a mile in the local swimming pool. As a family, we’ve swum in Greek water parks, Italian lidos, French lakes and, memorably, in 1997, found out about the death of Princess Diana whilst swimming in a gorgeous Danish municipal pool. When she visits Venice, once or twice a year, my mother always makes sure she fits in a swim at her favourite spots and, on our last trip, I went with her to the pool at Sant’ Alvise, in the Canareggio district.

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