Chlorene

So, last night I go swimming right. And it's in this pool right. And there's this stuff right. IT's called Chlorene right.
No.
Let me start that again.
I go swimming and I'm on my third length, so I'm nearly done, when I hear the most outrageous accent I've ever heard. It was a sort of Glaswegian (that's what they call things from Glasgow) high pitched, well, a sort of a slither. Like a slithering, sucking sound. Like a zithering or a slygoing. It was so high pitched all the dog's ears went up who were in the pool. Dogs need some pampering too! And they start barking, uncontrollably sinking back into their animal natures, after I'd spent the last two months teaching them all how to make vodka-martinis! I couldn't believe it.


So, I look round and what was it? It was my friend Richie, that what.



He'd decided to join the gym too and here he was decked out in the most disgusting pair of Gucci swimpods I have ever seen. I mean they were bright orange with a blue bib. Can you believe that? Me either.
So anyway, he comes across and I'm like 'Hi Jamie' and he's like shrieking 'OH MY GOD, MUSTY!' and I'm like 'How's it goin'?' and he's like 'OH MY GOD, IT'S GOING SO WELL' and I'm like-

well, to cut a long story short.