NORMAL LIFE: Halloween Ain't The Same Anymore!

Once again, it's All Hallow's Eve, the Celtic New Years Eve of yesteryear. The Celts chose November 1st to signify the end of the Summer and the year's harvest and the beginning of the dark, cold winter, a time often associated with human death.

More significantly, the Celt's believed that during the last night of October and the first day of November, the worlds of the living and the dead became blurred hence the celebration of Halloween with all things spooky. You can read more about Halloween here

In our family, the Celtic belief rings somewhat true. Four years ago on this very day, my sister knowingly gave birth to a stillborn baby girl. The disaster was a tragedy for a disbeliving family let alone the mother who had carried her child with so much hope in her heart. I actually did a Flashback blog entry about the tragedy (see here).

I can safely say that that single event left a mark on our family for the child that wasn't to be was succeeded by a girl who is so special and thus loved and cherished more than a child could possible hope for. I think of my sister during this time for the event left an indelible mark on her very person. I love you!

HUMOUR #7: A Finns Unique Reaction To Cold Weather

While some nations cower at the slightest fall in temperatures as winter sets in, Finns exhibition some unique behaviour!

+15°C - this is as warm as it gets in Finland, so we'll start here. People in Spain wear winter-coats and gloves. The Finns are out in the sun, getting a tan.

+10°C - the French are trying in vain to start their central heating. The Finns plant flowers in their gardens.

+5°C - Italian cars won't start, The Finns are cruising in cabriolets.

0°C - Distilled water freezes. The water in Vantaa river (in Finland) gets a little thicker.

-5°C - People in California almost freeze to death. The Finns have their final barbecue before winter.

-10°C - the Brits start the heat in their houses. The Finns start using long sleeves.

-20°C - the Aussies flee from Mallorca. The Finns end their Midsummer celebrations. Autumn is here.

-30°C - people in Greece die from the cold and disappear from the face of the earth. The Finns start drying their laundry indoors.

-40°C - Paris starts cracking in the cold. The Finns stand in line at the hotdog stands.

-50°C - Polar bears start evacuating the North Pole. The Finnish army postpones their winter survival training awaiting real winter weather.

-60°C - Korvatunturi (the home for Santa Claus) freezes. The Finns rent a movie and stay indoors.

-70°C - the false Santa moves south. The Finns get frustrated since they can't store their Kossu (Koskenkorva vodka) outdoors. The Finnish army goes out on winter survival training.

-183°C - Microbes in food don't survive. The Finnish cows complain that the farmers' hands are cold.

-273°C - all atom-based movent halts. The Finns start saying "Perkele, it's cold outside today."

NORMAL LIFE: Why Try To Eliminate Me?

Remember Hitler's idealism of creating a superior Aryan race, with the deep-seated belief that the original speakers of the Indo-European languages gracing Nordic looks constituted a distinctive race? Sixty years on, society still harbours 'ideals' like this.

The Human Genome project has raised issues such as 'designer babies' and how 'afflictions' such as deafness and homosexuality could be eliminated by extraction of the genes found to cause such afflictions from sperm prior to implantation into the egg. Sounds like the stuff of science fiction, but why is society obsessed with creating the perfect human designed to live longer and healthier in a world with an already overflowing population?

There are scientists working on cures for Cancer and Heart Diseases and there are even teams determined to find the 'cause' of homosexuality. Ask any gay man, and there's very little interest in knowing the how's or why's of why we are the way we are; put simply, if we weren't intended to be here, we wouldn't exist in the first place let alone the 1500 animals among which homosexuality has been observed (see here).

If a gene is found that causes homosexuality, will the specialists work to prevent it and on what rationale? Who has the right to remove this gene from the 'code'. Newly elected Pope Benedict XVI once described homosexuality as a "tendency" towards an "intrinsic moral evil". What the Pope doesn't know is that homosexuality isn't something you choose in a bid to differentiate yourself - it's not a marketing tactic, for god's sake!

We must ask ourselves: will the elimination of sub-cultures (e.g. deaf societies, gay societies etc.) make the world a better place? Given that homosexuals contribute enormously to the arts and modern politics, wouldn't we as a race be sabotaging future cultural experiences if society was suddenly devoid of such contributions? And if that was to be society's approach, wouldn't we in effect be condoning homophobia?

A team at the University of Illinois, which has screened the entire human genome, say there is no one 'gay' gene and claim that environmental factors are also likely to be involved. Meanwhile, a Canadian study suggests that a 'man's sexual orientation may be determined by conditions in the womb' (see here) or may be coincidental if he happens to be the younger of many brothers (see here). Whether the cause is genetic, environmental, biological or social, who really cares?

Alan Wardle from the gay rights charity Stonewall agreed that research in the area is interesting and contributes further to the debate, but stresses that "regardless of whether sexual orientation is determined by nature or nurture or both, the most important thing is that lesbians and gay men are treated equally and are allowed to live their life without discrimination."

After all, we are humans too and I'll say it once again: Being Gay Is Not A Choice!

NORMAL LIFE: Men And Their Boy's Toys!

We've been looking to buy a car together for ages. It would have been our first investment together. Considering we have been together for five years, it was high time we invested in something together. Moving wasn't an option because of exorbitant house prices. More important was for us to buy a more practical car. We started researching new cars, but in my frustration I started to question if we even needed another car in addition to the sports car sitting in the garage.

That is where the discussion was left, or so I thought. I visited the States last week on business and, on this day, I returned. I got home about 6pm, unpacked, put a load of washing on and waited for Bree to join me at home; he had been visiting his parents on this particular weekend. As the door sounded, I rushed into the hallway, welcoming him home with a kiss and a hug. We made a cup of tea and, about 30 minutes later, he said he had some news. He had a grin on his face; his grin normally amuses me, reassures me, but for some reason I could detect something was wrong.

His news was that, while I had been away, he had purchase a B-Class Mercedes! I was astounded, totally blown away by the fact that he had a) chosen a car he liked for the both of us and; b) bought the car while I happened to be out of the country. To add insult to injury, he even suggested that I pay half of the cost to which I responded "I don't even fucking like Mercedes!", something he has always known.

I'm still boiling over the episode, I really am. On one hand, I am annoyed that he bought something so expensive. On the other hand, he's landed himself right in it because I'm not paying a penny! After all, all I understood from the matter that we didn't even need a second car! Men!

NORMAL LIFE: Are Your Descendents Going to be Gorgeous or Hobbits?

I read a really interesting article last week (you can see it here), which told of how experts suspect that humanity may split into two sub-species.

Humans are expected to reach their peak in the year 3000 (how do they know things like this?), but an over-dependence on technology would lead to human's eventual demise. The expert claims that people would become choosier about their sexual partners (most of my friends are already too choosy), causing humanity to divide into what Evolutionary Theorist, Oliver Curry of the London School of Economics, refers to as 'an upper class, elite species' alongside a 'dim-witted underclass'.

The 'upper class' would be tall (between 6ft-7ft), slim, healthy, attractive, intelligent, and creative (sounds like most of the people living in the Nordic countries) with life-spans exceeding 120 years, a far cry from the "underclass" humans who would have evolved into dim-witted, ugly, squat goblin-like creatures (scary, isn't it, the thought that your grandchildren might me like Frodo and the hobbits!).

If you think that turning into a thick, ugly hobit is cause for concern, Dr Curry warms that humans will eventually pay a price for using technological gadgets to serve our every need. That price will see us come to resemble domestic animals: we would develop receding chins and social skills could be lost, along with the ability to express emotions such as love, sympathy, trust and respect (very much like the youth of today, but am I bovvered!).

An even scarier part is that novelist H G Wells apparently foresaw all this in his 1895 novel, The Time Machine. Similarly, Morgan Robertson's novel, The Wreck of the Titan (published in 1898) bore an uncanny resemblance to the Titanic disaster some fourteen years before the huge ocean liner sank in the Atlantic ocean; these people are like real-life Nostradamus'. Whooooo!

NORMAL LIFE: Are Black Kids Today's Must-Have Accessory?

If the title of this blog entry got your attention, then I have succeeded in replicating Madonna's recent behaviour; once again, she's courting controversy and getting what she always wants. Madonna has been shopping, this time for an child in the African country of Malawi (country profile here). Following in the footsteps of Angelina Jolie, Madge has adopted a child to even out the colours in her already multi-coloured family: she has a daughter who is of hispanic origin and a son with current husband, Guy Ritchie.

Within Malawi, the adoption has caused shockwaves for international adoption is apparently illegal. Another thing that shocked me was that the child's own father and grandmother were more than willing to give the child away. After a trip to South Africa - admittedly not the 'real' Africa - two years ago, I saw first hand just how different - and somewhat primitive - native Africans are. In the Western World, to literally give away your child is seen as the ultimate disservice to a child who just wants to be loved. Given that the father is 32 years old and not a teen father, I think his behaviour is somewhat unfathomable.

Having said this, we cannot even begin to imagine what it must be a like for a country with an alleged one million orphans. Madonna actually felt a need to respond to the ever increasing public criticism by claiming that "it was my wish to open up our home and help one child escape an extreme life of hardship, poverty and in many cases death, as well as expand our family". For sure, nannies and butlers will be raising that child, and David Banda (the child's current name) will merely serve to boost Madonna's own low self-esteem. If anything, Madonna's tactis are quite clever for David will surely keep Madonna in the public eye for another 20 years or so as the trials and tribulations of his teenage years keep an ever-hungry press-pack digging for more and more dirt.

Madonna was inspired by her trip to Malawi and "hopes that it helps bring attention to how much more the world needs to do to help the children of Africa". Tell me, has her trip to Africa changed your view of Africa? At the risk of sounding politically incorrect, doesn't Africa seem like a lost cause? Imagine the millions, if not billions in currency, that have been pumped into the African continent and what measurable progress has there been?

Another concern I have about this is that she was allowed to adopt David from a country that apparently hasn't even legalised international adoption. Furthermore, she bough him back to Britain where he will be granted British citizenship. As if the UK doesn't have enough problems with immigration without popstars smuggling African babies into the country under the guise of adoption! Give me strength! Britain only has so much capacity and if nothing is done to stem the population, the UK is going to face tought times. Read more about Britain's ecological debt here.

Madonna's intentions are admirable, but she should leave the work to the people who really care and stop trying to be a good-two-shoes when it's so obvious she's just trying to keep herself in the papers. You're getting old, you'll soon be over the hill, get used to it!

NORMAL LIFE: I Should Have Been An Orthopaedic Specialist

You won't believe what happened to me today! I mean, you'll fall over silly when I explain what happened at the hospital today. Following on from my recent entry about my bike accident in August (see here), and finally getting my insurance company to locate a collaborating-laboratory with which to do the much-needed CT scan with, I was handed my scans in electronic form on a CD-ROM.

I rushed home, look at the scans and, in my limited capacity as a semi-qualified accountant and Chartered Marketer, deduced nothing of value; the point is I could view the many images using my own computer at home.

Today came and I waited at HelsinginLääkärikeskus to be seen by the orthopaedic specialist. He put the CD-ROM into his CD-drive, but nothing came except a message claiming that 'Image Format Not Supported'. He barely tried to rectify the matter, not even bothering to try the CD on another computer for instance (just in case the case with PC-specific, as it can sometimes be).

He read through the radiologist's 100-word-of-so report that accompanied the CD, which stated that the two discs sitting between cervical vertebrae C5, C6 and C7 had ruptured, and it was this that was causing the immense pain and limited mobility of my neck. He told me that, outlook-wise, it could take up to a year to recover, and that I should refrain from exercising too much. What a bombshell that was for I like to go the gym and swim regularly.

I asked if further physiotherapy would help, agian being the active one! He said yes. I asked if he would recommend a physiotherapist, implying that the earlier one had not done the job properly. He said he didn't know of any! In disbelief, I claimed "you should know a physiotherapist if you're an othopaedic specialist". If looks could kill, I wouldn't be here right now to write this blog entry! I was like, oh my god! Not only with the computer issue, but also with recommending a physiotherapist, I thought this 'specialist' was nothing short of incompetent.

Basically, he wrote a prescription for further physiotherapy treatment, but handed over his second €170 bill for less than 15 minutes of his time! I knew I should have been an Orthopaedic Specialist!

NORMAL LIFE: A Literal Pain In The Neck

One thing I didn't write about back in August was the unfortunate accident I had on my bicycle which has left me somewhat injured ever since. It was August 16th, and I was cycling to work. Just after 8am, on the very street where I work, I made a maneuvour I have regretted ever since.

I was on the wrong side of the road so I went from the pavement onto the road and, as I looked back to see if there was anything preventing me from getting to the side of the road I needed to get onto, I went over a small hole which destablised me and I ended sprawled all over the road.

There were no witnesses and only a moment later did a car eventually come along the road I had glanced back at. I picked myself up, dusted myself off, relatively unscathed. Or so I thought. As I got back onto my bike, I suddenly broke out into a series of shivers - I looked down at my left foot and it was just oozing with blood. I arrived at work, had my morning shower (yes, at work!), but the bleeding wouldn't receed.

I work with two wonderful women, and - in a way only woman can do - they nagged me to report this as a work related incident and visit the company doctor. I did so and, boy, was I glad for the doctor proceeded to extract traces of asphalt which, by this time, had become deeply embedded in my foot. Two months later, the wound is still visible, although healing nicely.

What emerged a couple of days later was a neck injury very similar to that of whiplash. As the foot slowly began to heal during our trip to the UK (see blog entry here), the neck injury became more apparent. Upon our return to Finland, I visited the doctor once again who, after a thorough examination, prescribed a course of physiotherapy.

The physiotherapy bought short-term relief, but now (two months later) the pain has suddenly worsened. In all that time, I have refrained from exercising yet my neck hasn't healed. What worried me more than anything was the consistent clicking sound emanating from my neck at the slightest rotation of the neck. And so I went back to the doctor, this time a very caring woman in her fifties who just wasn't happy with my condition and immediately requested x-rays. It was at this point that I knew what was going to happen as I have been here before - I have spent quite a lot of time in hospitals and have become rather astute at self-diagnosis.

After the x-rays, I was referred to a specialist to analyse them - as I expected, he couldn't find anything wrong so I (not him) suggested a CT-Scan. The doctor, an unmarried and rather ugly looking and no doubt overpaid private consultant wanted to go the whole hog and order an MRI-Scan. I told him that wasn't an option because of my implantation and pointed out that he should have known that already!

That was two days ago. Still in pain, I finally got my insurance company to give me the approval I need to get a CT-Scan covered by my insurance. Within seconds of arriving, I was whisked away to the scanning room where I laid patiently in the huge machine. As the machinery hummed around me, I marvelled at just how powerful these machines were.

An hour later, I had the pictures of my scans in a CD and headed off to a Finnish lesson; on the way, I got a phone call that my consultation with the specialist - the one who would interpret the scans - would have to cancel this evening's appointment! Grrr! So we rescheduled for Saturday. It would be nice to know what is causing this literal pain in the neck.

NORMAL LIFE: Winter Is Coming!

In Finland, there are three distinct signs that winter is coming. Firstly, people start to pile on the clothes, even well before the temperatures plummet; on my way to work this morning, I had on four layers, a t-shirt, a long-sleeved smart shirt, a cardigan and a waterproof jacket and it was between 5-10°C. A bit over the top, perhaps!

Secondly, the temperatures start to waver - some days strive to give one last burst of heat before giving way to the wind that comes from across the Baltic Sea to strike the city of Helsinki with a vengence. In the course of a day, minimum and maximum temperatures can vary by 10-15°C.

And then there's the darkness, that wonderful thing that increases the fortunes of Fazer, the Finnish equivalent to the UK's Cadbury's, who claims that eating their chocolate eases the depressing effects of darkness.

In my view, you know winter is well and truly on it's way when it's still somewhat dark when you arrive at work and you can already observe the sun's descent by the time you leave. The picture accompanying this entry shows the view from my office window at 8.15am this morning!

NORMAL LIFE: Finland On YouTube

There has been a bit of coverage recently about Google's aquisition of YouTube, an online source of mini-clips on every subject imaginable. I decided to hit their website, ran a search for 'Finland' and got this wonderful piece of footage; the clip captures the very essence of what I love about Finland; it's nature, the diversity of it's landscape and it's modestly designed cities. I love it!

NORMAL LIFE: Training In London

As I write this blog entry, I’m somewhere over Sweden, heading back ’home’ to my beloved in Suomi (Finland). What an active week it has been – I really did cram it all in.

Interspersed with a pretty useless Product Management course which ran from Monday to Wednesday, I met up with a friend I hadn’t seen for a good five or six years. A giant of a man (in a good sense, as he is quite sporty), Tez is a gentle soul. When I met him, we were both hard-of-hearing, an affliction which clearly united us somewhat for we experienced similar day-to-day issues. Of course, I am still hard-of-hearing although my bionic ear implantation has clearly pushed my abilities above and beyond those I possessed prior to the implantation. We spent two hours in a café, covering every subject under the sun. We were never the best of friends, merely acquaintances, but the minute I meet up with Tez outside London’s Victoria Station, I sensed a familiarity which I felt comfortable with. Not only is he sexy (in a platonic sense, of course), we have a lot in common and I only regret not keeping in touch with him. Shortly after going our separate ways, I received a lovely text message from him along the lines of ‘let’s stay in contact, was great to see you’. I walked back to my hotel in Green Park with a smile on my face; the course may have been going badly, but my life just got richer

On the Tuesday, I met up with friend Nick who I had seen in September (see blog entry here). We always have a great conversation – we bitch, we whinge and we moan and we have the answers to all the world’s problems, don’t we Nick?!! We ended up down the Duke of Wellington, one of Soho’s more down to earth establishments for guys like us. We grabbed a late-night KFC, which seems to be ‘our thing’. After we parted, I headed back to the hotel with the thought of just one more day of that crappy course left!

Come Wednesday, the course ended at 4pm and I spent the evening with my American colleagues. I took them to Porters, a restaurant in London’s Covent Garden owned by the Earl of Bradford. I had visited the restaurant two years ago with Bree when he visited London the first time and he enjoyed experiencing some of the traditional English food on offer. On this occasion, I tucked into Steak, Guinness and Mushroom Pie and Syrup Pudding while my colleague sampled the Spotted Dick, one of the UK’s sumptuous hot puddings doused in lashings of vanilla custard! Yummy!

Thursday was an early start for my two American colleagues and I; at 6.30am, we were on the London Underground, bound for the firm’s UK office in Hertfordshire. Nothing to write home about really except I had my first bit of real exposure when there were some questions relating to my area of responsibility. There I was answering questions in a room of some 30 distant colleagues based in the UK, and it felt great! When I headed back to London, I met up with Red in London’s West End to celebrate our recent Masters Theses submissions. Over a lunch where she was presented with a vegetarian burger as hard as a hammer (honestly, you could hear the burger ‘clunk’ against the plate when using the fork as a hammer!), Red and I caught up with loads of gossip and funny stories. We walked down Recent Street, through Piccadilly and consumed ice creams at Hagen Daaz (it’s rude to pass that place and not go in!) before heading to Covent Garden. After a wonder round Apple Market, the location of the opening scenes from My Fair Lady starring Audrey Hepburn and Rex Harrison, I left Red to meet contacts for a business meeting.

I headed to Oxford Street, to buy much-needed smart trousers for work. I was in Next, and I tried on some long-sized 34-inch waist trousers. While they fit around the waste perfectly, they were understandably far too long. I tried on the regular-size and, again, they were too long. Weird, I thought to myself! I tried on the short-size trousers and they fit like a glove. There I was staring in disbelief at the mirror wondering since when has a six-foot man been short?!!

I met up with Red again after her meeting, this time in a pub near Shaftsbury Avenue in London’s Theatre District. I waded my way through the rush-hour pedestrian traffic, mini floods of rain water lashing at my feet; it had been raining all day, a reminder of those autumn afternoons at school when I would gaze absently-minded out of the windows of the classroom rather than pay attention to the teacher! After a swift drink, we headed our separate ways – I had a date with the TV, determined to fit in some relaxation.

I woke up the next morning and, by 8.30am, was on the tube on my way to Tooting Broadway in South London to attend a one day Advanced Course in Excel. On the way, I read a shocking article in the Daily Mail. Apparently, Jack Straw, Britain’s former Foreign Secretary, had attached controversy by claiming that when Muslim women visit him at his regular surgery’s, he would prefer it if they would remove their veils because he would like to ‘see who he is talking to’, indicating that the refusal to remove them is clearly ‘a visible
statement of separation and difference’, something that contributes nothing to race relations. Interesting, I thought. I had never thought of this before. What is one of the first things you are taught as a child? It is to look at the person who is speaking to you. After all, it’s polite, isn’t it? Would you want to have a conversation with someone if you could only see their eyes, unable to interpret body language emitting from the rest of the individual’s face? Apparently, it’s sparked a major debate in the UK, which is apparently undergoing a period of self-induced unmonitored segregation. Fortunately, some Muslim leaders have spoken up for Jack Straw while some high profile figures have bravely questioned the concept of multiculturalism itself. The bottom line is we must tolerate and respect the rights of others. But at the same time non-native Brits must tolerate and respect ours. Don’t even get me started on the race riots that broke out in Windsor, literally on the Queen’s doorstep, about the building of a mosque (read more here).

When I arrived at the training venue, there were four of us in total; the tutor was a handsome guy from Nigeria who spoke wonderful formal English and therefore resembled what I can only describe as a black toff. The other two trainees consisted of a young girl named Jasmine of Indian descent and a Malaysian woman in her mid-40s. It was a great training session and, over lunchtime, we got to know each other better. Jasmine was a Chartered Accountant while the Malaysian woman (whose named I can’t remember) was working on Outreach projects for drug addicts and alcohol dependant citizens in the London Borough of Westminster. What an interesting mix we were. The days news regarding the Muslim veil had hit everybody with Jasmine claiming that she was a sikh who ate meat and cut her hair, both which apparently go against the sikhist belief. I was so relieved to be in the presence of a British-Indian. I think the media coverage post 9/11 has contributed somewhat to the fragmentation of existing multicultural societies for people on the street quite rightly want to see the face of the person that is speaking to them whereas the media tends to indicate that such suggestions are bang of order. Apparently, Jemima Kahn, who converted to Islam when she married Pakistani cricketer Imran Kahn, reported that nowhere in the Koran does it state that women need to cover their faces so really what is the hold up?

After a very mature lunchtime debate, we returned for the remainder of the Excel course. Come 5pm, the three trainees headed to the underground. On the Underground, Jasmine and I swapped contact info before I got off the Northern Line at Stockwell to take the Victoria Line to Green Park. I met up with the Americans in the hotel bar, before meeting my friend Nick. We grabbed some ready-made delicious food from Marks & Spencer’s, which we ate in my hotel room, together with a nice fruity bottle of New Zealand white wine. Soon after, we were in the Village, one of Soho’s trendy meeting places. As the night wore on, go-go boys graced the bar tops including one criminally handsome tanned guy who kept giving me the looks. We had to leave that bar before I did something I regret, so we headed to Barcode for a quick drink before it closed at 1am.

As we walked back to the hotel, I was amazed at how warm it was. Nick crashed in my room and no sooner had my head hit the bed at 2am was it already 10am and time to wake and get packed. I checked out just after 11am, and we headed into town one last time in search of breakfast. We ended up in Oxford Street’s Pizza Hut before heading to Leicester Square for an ice cream and then a walk around Trafalgar Square; it was this point that I deduced that while London is constantly modernizing, it is the sense of continuity in its world-famous sites that provide much needed peace and tranquility in an ever-changing world. Finally, via The Strand, we ended up in Covent Garden, drinking tea on seats outside a petit little café with a view of Apple Market and its ambling crowd; it was wonderful to sit there in the shade of a surprisingly warm, sunny Autumn day.

The time came for Nick and I to part. We got on the tube at Covent Garden, saying our goodbyes on the platform at Green Park. I gave him a tight hug, headed to the hotel and collected the luggage I had left with Concierge. On the way to the airport on the Piccadilly Line, I dozed. It was a good thing really, because it meant that I had the energy to write this blog entry. The flight has been wonderful, with just 12 people onboard a plane with a capacity of at least 150 seats. Time to shut this laptop down, the seatbelt signs are indicating that it is time to land back in Suomi. Home, I thought to myself.

NORMAL LIFE: Run Over A What?!

Five years ago, the very mention of the word 'paedophile' was taboo. Nowadays, what with the seemingly never-ending media coverage of children being 'groomed' and abused via the Internet, the word has entered common usage. Imagine, you're in Grosvenor Place in London's Victoria and you notice the following advert on a wall. What a marketing strategy!

NORMAL LIFE: A Full Fee For Half A Service!

You won't believe what happened to me today! You'll just die when I tell ya! Well, that's not altogether true, but I'm hoping you'll at least sympathise with me. It all happened earlier today when I visited the local swimming pool with one of my sisters. Upon our arrival, my sister and I were informed that the male and female showers were not working and that the female changing rooms were out of order. While we admittedly chose to accept what can only be regarded as a substandard level of service, we paid the FULL fee of ₤6.80.

Within five minutes of having entered the swimming pool, swimmers were asked to leave the pool area; apparently, there had been a lightning strike, which resulted in a power surge. After I got dressed, I headed to reception and asked to speak to the on-duty Manager. He explained that it was necessary, due to Health & Safety, for swimmers to leave the pool. While I understand this, I asked for his opinion as to whether first being denied a shower and then only being able to swim no more than six lengths constituted a swim. I requested a refund, which he refused.

He argued that the pool was emptied in line with Health & Safety legislation. This raises an interesting point for if the management was looking out for the best interests of the customer, isn’t it also in the swimmer’s best interest, whether covered by health and safety legislation or not, to be able to clean after an hour or so in chlorine-rich water? And isn’t it furthermore wrong that swimmers are charged a full fee for half a service?

The treatment I received was akin to being sold a cinema ticket while being denied somewhere to sit. Furthermore, if a cinema presentation was cut short for whatever reason, even as a result of an act of god (as was the lightning strike), I think the management of the cinema would surely feel that a refund was in order. I wrote a letter of complaint to the swimming pool - let's see what they have to say!