shshshare graaandad pooorage

As the bathroom was occupied when my dad arose he was forced to steal my mum's dressing-gown before coming down for breakfast, where the wingpiglet persuaded him out of about a third of his carefully-measured bowl of porridge. Fortunately the honey mixed into it didn't have too much of an effect.

As he usually goes swimming on Mondays we attempted to visit the nearest not-closed-for-the-autumn swimming pool, six miles away in the town where I went to school. I had an inkling of impending uselessness when there were a lot of old-looking people all getting out of cars in the car park but then not shuffling over to the nearby indoor bowling green, confirmed when the cash desk operative informed us that the next six hours were occupied with non-public swimming sessions, as was stated on their website, which was not the case when we re-tested it several times later in the day. The next-nearest pool was another fifteen miles away so we gave up and headed back, hopefully aided on a return attempt by a printout of the mythical session timetable produced by the money-taking person.