In 1979, no-one died.

Made my first visit to the local swimming pool today. Paid for my hour’s session and then wandered around searching in vain for the changing rooms before unexpectedly re-emerging into the foyer. The helpful man who’d taken my money knew a few words of English and personally escorted me to the changing rooms (go to the showers then go out again, along a long corridor, up a flight of stairs and along another long corridor, and Bob’s your uncle). Here I found myself alone apart from a menacing looking brassy blonde woman, possibly ex-Stasi, who was checking lockers with no small level of aggression implied in the manner she was slamming each one shut after looking in it. Having changed and found my way back to the showers, I luckily happened across the same helpful man who then directed me to the pool.

I had a good long swim, negotiated the shower and changing room, and returned to the foyer thinking I’d done well, only to discover that the turnstile through which I’d entered did not helpfully give way for those trying to exit. On the contrary it stubbornly refused to move no matter how hard one pushed. Only then did I realise that the ticket used for entry needed to be re-submitted in order to leave. My ticket, being sopping wet and at the bottom of a bin in the shower area, didn’t help matters. The helpful man was nowhere to be seen, so I fruitlessly called ‘hello’ a couple of times towards the deserted ticket office. The turnstile was fairly high but there being no room to squeeze around I decided the only option was to climb. Was halfway over and semi stuck when a head appeared in the ticket office; naturally it was the Stasi woman, and naturally I thought I was for it. She stared at me and I waved, as it somehow seemed appropriate. At which point she surprised me by smiling broadly as I managed to clamber down the other side. She turned out to be quite sweet after all, and sent me on my way with kindly words of indeterminate meaning (indeterminate to me anyway, must improve my German).