Sunday Sunset

After a busy Sunday the public pool has a particular quality. It's tired, worn and uncared for. And seems somehow symbolic of something greater, but that I can't quite name. The sun's below the horizon, the daylight softening. Everything is in light shadow, signifying the end of day, end of weekend. End of things in general.

The pool complex has the aura of a damp fag end in a gutter. The bottom of the pool itself is scattered with detritus. The usual accumulated stuff: band aids, bobby pins, hair elastics; but also completely random stuff – today a AA size battery. The empty change rooms everywhere indicate recent crowds, now elsewhere. Bits of grass and soil trodden in on wet feet; clumps of the hair of a hundred previous swimmers, clogging the drain in the shower; pieces of rubbish in the corners of cubicles; the top broken off the soap dispenser and lying in a foamy puddle by the sink; random slicks of water on the floor where bathers have dried off and changed, and wrung out their cossies.

The effect is emphasised by the dim, late afternoon light, the lack of other people, the sounds of just the few remaining swimmers plapping up and down the lanes, and the scutter of roller shutters on the kiosk going down. The paint stains on the wall are noticeable today, as are the fading letters of the old scuba advert, the curling corners of the hand made memos blue-tacked to the wall.

There's the smell of anti-climax, of things past. Of fun and laughter now wrapped up and departed, leaving an emptiness. It's all over for today. But the pool complex will look fresh and revived again tomorrow morning, optimistic, and ready to receive another batch of swimmers.