I was having my post-yoga swim in the pool at Kirkstall Leisure Centre this morning when a 10 year old dive bomber reminded me of Garston Baths and another lifetime. Nowadays, the swimmers like me are neatly cordoned off from school holiday mayhem and even that is 'health and safeteyed' into submission

In the 60s noone would have understood what a "leisure centre" was or going to a "pool" for a swim. Garston Baths was about a mile and a half from where me, Steve, Luke and Fizzy all lived at Aigburth. Outings to the Baths was a daytime escape for us from the age of 11 upwards. It's now been levelled and is being offered as a 'site for redevelopment'.

On a Saturday we would extract 2 shillings (10p) from our parents and catch the 82c bus down to Garston for an adventure. Garston was rough - still is. So it was with a mixture of excitement and trepidation that we entered the old victorian era baths with numerous nooks and crannies and changing cubicles, with wild west saloon style doors, running down the sides of the pool. No locks.

The noise was usually deafening and it was everyman (and woman) for themselves. Anarchy prevailed with only the occasional intervention by an attendant (who were usually the scariest people there) when an ambulance was needed or the smell of riot was in the air. There were two pools as I remember it and you could promenade between the two if you needed to chill away from the psychopaths.

Dive-bombing was de rigeur and I don't think it ever occurred to us to use this leisure opportunity for swimming. It was all so exciting and edgy for genteel Aigburth residents like us and we all emerged high as kites and starving.

Then it was decision time. An enormous and painful dilemma. Remember we'd started with 2 shillings.

Sixpence fare in each direction and a schilling to get into the Baths.
We had sixpence left, - just enough to get us home by bus.
We could either take the bus back home or, lulled by the siren smells of the chippy across the road and the prospect of Wooly's broken biscuits, blow the sixpence on food and walk it on our tired little legs.

Sixpence worth of chips usually won the day and I have no regrets. I've never tasted better or enjoyed better company.

OUR URBAN FOX

We have a fox's den at the bottom of our garden. It all started about 4 years ago when as we tumbled our way through getting dressed for work and having breakfast, we spotted a fox through the back window, patrolling around the sun lounger itself,as a couple of its young played on the lounger itself, totally chilled out and protected by Mum. As we gulped our teas with one eye on the clock along came a third, then a fourth, quickly followed by a fifth and sixth! It was the start of their relationship with each other, with their mother, and ours with them.
Sadly the six didn't last and in the days that followed they dwindled to three, before Mum sent them on their way, doubtless to find their own territory.
In the years since, each year we've had a little brood. Are we looking at more pups from the original Mum or her grandchildren. Who knows. Our part in the plan is to keep the ancient ancestral pile available. An honourable task.
They really ask no more of us and in return, there is the occasional spellbinding meeting as they saunter quietly and nonchalantly through the garden on the way to the woods across the road for a bite to eat. Don't ask. I just hope it's a grey squirrel and don't get me started on them. There are presently one adult and two kids in residence.
I was standing outside the garage one sunny morning about six weeks ago trying to make some sense of the confusion that is our garage, but also just enjoying the sunshine. Something made me look to my left and there was a fine-looking fox no more than 7 or 8 feet away from me, very cool, just watching me. I watched back.
There was such an air of calm and composure in the way it stood there. No nerves no darting glances to right or left, no threatening growls or frightened yelps. No indication of fright or flight about to take over. Just curiosity. We had a quiet unspoken exchange. Live and let live. And then, when the fox had had enough and remembered his main purpose today, as with every day, was to find enough food to survive, It moved on. Not at a pace or looking over his shoulder to see what I was doing, but with a quiet, unhurried dignity. Beautiful.
They don't push their luck. Not like those 'in your face' squirrels!
Meanwhile we leave them to their little wilderness at the back.