onionbagblog
Ice Ice Baby
And so on the day after that the two main pools in Lambeth were shut (one for 'an unplanned maintenance issue,' the otherso that the staff could be shown how to operate the boiler staff training,) my daily dip on the shortest day of the year went al fresco as I was Lovely Lido bound.
Brilliant!
Bloody brrrrrrrr...
I am now officially a Brockwell Icicle. I feel a little fake though seeing as the original 70's initiation ceremony involved swimming outdoors in an unheated pool for 365 days a year, and then on one of those days, breaking the ice with your raw hands to lead a pathway for the othernutters swimmers.
The updated initiation asks candidates to swim in the unheated South London pool on the shortest day of the year. I dived in, shouted out 'FUCK!! SHIT!! WANK!! BOLLOCKS!! DERBY!!!!' very loudly, and then legged it out of the Lovely Lido.
But still - I bloody did it.
There was plenty of hugging taking place poolside shortly before the midday mass dive. This was partly to do with summer friends reunited for the festive season, partly because it was just so bloody cold. I hugged two fine females and a bloke wearing a thong and sporting a handlebar moustache.
If that wasn't a rude awakening, next up it was time to freeze my nuts off. My Brockwell Icicles initiation has been on my mind all week. Would I, or wouldn't I? My Brixton Rec early morning swimming companions reckoned 'no chance.' The more I thought about it, the more I was inclined to believe them.
But I woke early on Saturday morning and thought now or never. How often does the winter solstice come around anyway? I cycled past Brixton Rec and continued my commute to SE24. Indoor swimming is unnatural; outdoors is where all the handlebar moustache action can be found.
A quick de-briefing session from the Man from Fusion and I was almost ruled out by default:
'If you have consumed any alcohol within the past twenty-four hours, please let a lifeguard know about this.'
Whoops. My 1am meeting with Mr JD was supposed to keep my solstice spirits alive.
'Please don't submerge your head, and wear a swimming hat at all times. We are slightly concerned about the possibility of hypothermia.'
Only slightly concerned?
I was more concerned about losing my manhood, especially with an army of London's snappers positioned by poolside to capture my morning glory limping into their lens.
'FUCK!! SHIT!! WANK!! BOLLOCKS!! DERBY!!!!'
Seriously cold. But I actually quite enjoyed it. One width, two, three and four. As long as you kept active, then the old man down below remained in place.
My fellow Brockwell Icicles included kids to coffin dodgers, and everything else in-between. A true inclusive club, the only requirement was for a love of outdoor water. With the World Winter Swimming Championships taking place down the road in Toooting early next year, a number of competitors used the winter solstice as a practise session.
The fragrant mrs onionbagblogger's head turns blue if the heating ever dips below 70 degrees back at base. She remained an unenthusiastic cheerleader from the sidelines, making an appearance at the Lovely Lido only for the promise of mince pies afterwards.
A steaming hot shower (Brixton Rec take note,) a hot cup of tea and a mince pie in the Lido cafe, and soon I was almost back to normal down below. I was unable to urinate for the rest of the afternoon. Hung like a donkey to pin the tail on the donkey, hunting around, trying to find the old fella.
I felt truly alive, energised on the winter solstice and ready for the remainder of the winter months.
This time of year has long been celebrated by atheists / Bible bashers / lido lovers alike, all in the name of the shortest day. You need a release on this day of darkness, especially so if your very reason for living is the Lovely Lido during the summer months.
The winter solstice is all about celebration. Christians celebrate the birth of some fairytale character; Pagans celebrate becoming slightly closer to the sun. As a Lidoist (oh yes!) I celebrate the Lovely Lido. My faith was renewed, along with my membership for another year.
Swimming, shagging and the South London sun - it's a mighty fine way to live your life.
And so that's the shortest day done and dusted. It's all-downhill from now. The first over will be bowled at The Oval in just under sixteen weeks, shortly followed by the first day of the Lovely Lido summer season.
Saturday's winter solstice was a wonderful morning and hopefully the first of an annual outing for the Brockwell Icicles. Well done BLU and Fusion for making this happen.
Come on in - the water's...
FUCKING FREEZING
technorati: brockwell icicles
| Saturday 22 December, 2007 |
And so on the day after that the two main pools in Lambeth were shut (one for 'an unplanned maintenance issue,' the other
Brilliant!
Bloody brrrrrrrr...
I am now officially a Brockwell Icicle. I feel a little fake though seeing as the original 70's initiation ceremony involved swimming outdoors in an unheated pool for 365 days a year, and then on one of those days, breaking the ice with your raw hands to lead a pathway for the other
The updated initiation asks candidates to swim in the unheated South London pool on the shortest day of the year. I dived in, shouted out 'FUCK!! SHIT!! WANK!! BOLLOCKS!! DERBY!!!!' very loudly, and then legged it out of the Lovely Lido.
But still - I bloody did it.
There was plenty of hugging taking place poolside shortly before the midday mass dive. This was partly to do with summer friends reunited for the festive season, partly because it was just so bloody cold. I hugged two fine females and a bloke wearing a thong and sporting a handlebar moustache.
If that wasn't a rude awakening, next up it was time to freeze my nuts off. My Brockwell Icicles initiation has been on my mind all week. Would I, or wouldn't I? My Brixton Rec early morning swimming companions reckoned 'no chance.' The more I thought about it, the more I was inclined to believe them.
But I woke early on Saturday morning and thought now or never. How often does the winter solstice come around anyway? I cycled past Brixton Rec and continued my commute to SE24. Indoor swimming is unnatural; outdoors is where all the handlebar moustache action can be found.
A quick de-briefing session from the Man from Fusion and I was almost ruled out by default:
'If you have consumed any alcohol within the past twenty-four hours, please let a lifeguard know about this.'
Whoops. My 1am meeting with Mr JD was supposed to keep my solstice spirits alive.
'Please don't submerge your head, and wear a swimming hat at all times. We are slightly concerned about the possibility of hypothermia.'
Only slightly concerned?
I was more concerned about losing my manhood, especially with an army of London's snappers positioned by poolside to capture my morning glory limping into their lens.
'FUCK!! SHIT!! WANK!! BOLLOCKS!! DERBY!!!!'
Seriously cold. But I actually quite enjoyed it. One width, two, three and four. As long as you kept active, then the old man down below remained in place.
My fellow Brockwell Icicles included kids to coffin dodgers, and everything else in-between. A true inclusive club, the only requirement was for a love of outdoor water. With the World Winter Swimming Championships taking place down the road in Toooting early next year, a number of competitors used the winter solstice as a practise session.
The fragrant mrs onionbagblogger's head turns blue if the heating ever dips below 70 degrees back at base. She remained an unenthusiastic cheerleader from the sidelines, making an appearance at the Lovely Lido only for the promise of mince pies afterwards.
A steaming hot shower (Brixton Rec take note,) a hot cup of tea and a mince pie in the Lido cafe, and soon I was almost back to normal down below. I was unable to urinate for the rest of the afternoon. Hung like a donkey to pin the tail on the donkey, hunting around, trying to find the old fella.
I felt truly alive, energised on the winter solstice and ready for the remainder of the winter months.
This time of year has long been celebrated by atheists / Bible bashers / lido lovers alike, all in the name of the shortest day. You need a release on this day of darkness, especially so if your very reason for living is the Lovely Lido during the summer months.
The winter solstice is all about celebration. Christians celebrate the birth of some fairytale character; Pagans celebrate becoming slightly closer to the sun. As a Lidoist (oh yes!) I celebrate the Lovely Lido. My faith was renewed, along with my membership for another year.
Swimming, shagging and the South London sun - it's a mighty fine way to live your life.
And so that's the shortest day done and dusted. It's all-downhill from now. The first over will be bowled at The Oval in just under sixteen weeks, shortly followed by the first day of the Lovely Lido summer season.
Saturday's winter solstice was a wonderful morning and hopefully the first of an annual outing for the Brockwell Icicles. Well done BLU and Fusion for making this happen.
Come on in - the water's...
FUCKING FREEZING
technorati: brockwell icicles
| #permalink |
