My redundancy had neatly eliminated the excuse that I was always too busy to take regular exercise and it was now time to dip my toe in the water. Housework completed, I set out on my quest.

Twenty-one pounds and forty-five pence buys monthly admission into a special society, the members of which begin their daily activities by removing their clothes and complete their session with heavy breathing and a healthy glow. The good news is that (at least to the best of my knowledge) there are no nasty health dangers resulting from over-indulgence in this physical activity in which both sexes participate with equal enthusiasm, although a lingering aroma of chlorine and high incidence of athlete's foot are known risks. Not for us paying a single admission and mixing with the general public waiting for the clock to strike nine; for we are the early-birds, free to swim from 7.30am, unhindered by hordes of schoolkids and immune from the collision risk of basking OAPs paying concessionary entry fees.

My complaining knee joints had been telling me for some time that more vigorous forms of exercise were not the most sensible way of achieving at least some degree of improved fitness so, following a brief enquiry at the local leisure centre, I provided my two passport-sized photos, handed over my fee and was issued with my pass.

On entry into the changing area my glasses instantly misted up and their removal gave me a swift reminder of my long-standing sporting shortcoming; the reason I was never the one to shout "leave it to me" when standing on the receiving end of a rugby kick-off - I didn't mind taking responsibility but not being able to see the ball until the last half-second tended to limit my successful fielding rate. Having fingers that were utterly butterly just added to the embarrassment. I digress; let's get back to the swimming.

Even with reduced visibility, I managed to change, insert my ten pence into the locker in exchange for a key attached to an over-sized safety pin, and made my way to the pool - not neglecting to shower first as instructed by numerous notices with print so big that even I could not fail to get the message. I had been dithering on the poolside trying to select my entry point for no more than five seconds when a sharp-eyed attendant instructed me back into the changing area. Rules are rules - no chewing gum allowed in the pool. I felt like a kid again. I'm still not sure if this was to stop swimmers choking themselves or to avoid the risk of those on foot becoming too attached to the poolside - probably both. I did as I was told and spitting my gum into the bin prior to showering is now part of my regular ritual - one telling off was enough for me.

Lane discipline in the pool is not unlike that on a motorway; most people navigate their way with at least some degree of consideration for others and normally avoid clattering into each other. There is always a self-centred and disruptive minority, however, which ignores the code, whether it be highway or the unwritten laws of water etiquette. These individuals are the equivalent of those BMW drivers who have a simplistic belief in the equation that speed equals ownership: "I'm going faster than you so get out the way because it's my pool" - forget the "public" in public baths. Most of us are fairly philosophical but just like on the road, the real fun starts when two of these water hogs literally cross paths - this leisure centre's not big enough for the both of us.

My first few outings consisted of more time spent gasping for breath at the end of each length than actually making any sort of progress through the water. Gradually, session by session, the balance shifted and the only time I now stop is to have a chat with one of my regular swimming companions - providing of course that I am close enough to recognise who they are. The people that I have really come to admire, however, are those parallel pairs of ladies of a certain age, floral swimming caps and all, who maintain an intense conversation whilst making effortless progress through the water - usually swimming breaststroke at twice the pace of my laboured front crawl.

Now that I'm a regular, I'm seriously considering making a big investment in sporting equipment - a pair of goggles. I've been told by one of my fellow early-birds that you can now get them with prescription lenses - this could open up a whole new sporting world for me. It would be wonderful to see the far end of the pool and, of course, there is not even the remotest chance that someone will kick a rugby ball in my direction.