He stopped saying and doing this after not very long (the rest of the family, however, picked it up). Now instead of saying anything, he just slumps. And slumps. And slumps, until he's lying face down on the floor, boneless with existential misery. (And then he peeks at you carefully, out of the corner of his eye, to see if his pathos has the desired effect.)
You must imagine me in this same dissolvement of despair as I write this entry.
We could not get through to the cab company this morning, so instead of calling a cab to have it drive us to the pool, we set forth bravely on foot in hopes of finding it. I was pretty sure I knew where I'd gone wrong last time, and that if we went right (or left, more accurately) it would probably be fairly easy to find. And, in fact, it was. It was exactly where I thought it would be.
But it is not _finished_.
I cannot tell if it's newly built entirely or if it's being refurbished and having a leisure centre added on (I get the impression of the former), but whichever it is, that is *not* somewhere I can swim. There is no indication at all of *when* it will be done. It looks like it could be done in a matter of weeks, but I suspect that is just not the case. I am full of woe.
*peeks at you carefully, out of the corner of my eye, to see if my pathos has the desired effect*
There's a 20 meter pool in the Commodore Hotel, apparently. I guess I'll see about getting a membership there, though a 20 meter pool is, well, 20 meters. That's short.
Still, I had a clever plan! Iif Ted gets a job at the Quay Bar & Restaurant, which is about 12 feet from the Commodore, I can walk to work with him whenever he has to be at work, and just going into the Commodore and doing my swimming. That would make me about 15,000 times more likely to actually swim. So I hope the physical therapist tells him on Thursday that he can go to work, and that they hire him down at the Quay. :)