by Mik Bulk – applying the news, locally
Everyone knows what hasn’t happened in Harold recently and is ongoing so I went off from the office to do some investigations of my own and what follows is what I discovered during the course of them activities.
When Harold’s famous old swimming pool was threatened with closure during and after and before government cuts were introduced by the government there were very real fears the swimming pool would close as a result.
Speaking to the manager earlier than today, I speaked: “Is this government an ‘out of touch’ one.”
Manager Hilary Rip, the female manageress, replied with such a look of “well, that’s the case” that I nearly forgot my journalism and reached out to her.
When this didn’t happen, I asked, askance: “Is the government a lamed duck?”
Again she said nothing and led me to the main pool which I hadn’t yet asked yet to see yet but wanted to eventually.
The pool was full of water so I knelt down and touched it. “It’s very wet” I exclaimed to Ms Rip – I think she knew what I meant.
For perhaps 300 years, Harold’s families – young, old and mid-forties – have been coming here to enjoy and to swim and to play. Make of that what you will.
But with trouble brewing, and if it closes, that’ll be stopping, and many blame the government, though not me openingly because I have what it known as ‘journalistic integrity’ – which means simply that I cannot allow myself to understand anything.
I decided to be rudimentary. Ms Rip seemed distracted as I asked: “Where do you get your chlorine from?”
She answered that a local supplier was responsible.
Then I asked some other questions I’d prepared. But many of these seemed to subdue her so I suggested we saw the changing rooms.
However, this wasn’t possible for some reason and the whole thing suddenly made me feel sad and I recalled a book by the famous Thomas Hardly that someone told me about.
But then I checked myself’s sadness, remembering the first rule of journalism: journalism integrity (which I have already mentioned).
Ms Rip went off to “do some work” so I went to the onsite cafe, which (and I don’t know why) was closed, though why I’m not sure.
Outside on my bike, I rode down the road but, not before time, I turned around and looked back at the pool and thought about what it would be like if it wasn’t there anymore. The thought shuddered me, but then I remembered my so-called ‘integrity’ – and that merely made me pedal all the faster as I left the scene behind me, perhaps forever.
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