countessian

the swimming lesson

Stretching back even further through desert reminiscences (as I have been uncontrollably of late), we find ourselves in the Rancho Mirage of August 2004, skinnier and browner than we’ve ever been since. Two hotel rooms, four kids, one migraine, Spindrift and Gram Rabbit, fake calls from roadside phone booths, two “Swedish” pancakes, one Dr Pepper bottleful of bourbon and lots of smuggled rum preceded my realisation that there had been an adults-only pool all along.

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This entry was posted on Thursday, July 26th, 2007 at 4:52 pm. It is filed under documentary. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.