Like Stonehenge, Morley Swimming Pool was created to mirror the turning of the seasons. Light penetrates the building at different times and angles depending on the time of year. Around each equinox, swimmers crash into each other, blinded by reflections on the blue water. The 8.15am swimmers are frolicsome today – they arrived in daylight after months of darkness. As usual, the Johns and Petes stand in the corner of the shallow lane, offering each other their opinions of how Saturday’s footballers (or rugby players) should have conducted the match they lost, or how the Government should have handled the latest crisis. Betty, Winnie, June, Jenny and Mags potter sedately in a flock, getting in everyone’s way, telling their tales of grandchildren, baking, weddings and funerals. The regular swimmers plod along in the medium lanes, counting lengths and hoping they can maintain past standards. The charge-alongers hog the fast lanes, churning the water, arrogantly showering the slow-laners so anxiously keeping their heads above water. All here, all happy in their own ways, all used to each other after years of attendance. But wait. Heads turn. There is someone new arriving. A buxom lady in a bikini – unheard of in Morley. Golden tan, ankle bracelet, tattoo on right thigh. Which lane will she take? The Johns and Petes suck in their tummies, pull back their shoulders, and try to look 10 years younger than they are. The sedate flock of ladies, primed to elicit the minutiae of each Morley life, prepare to cross-question the newcomer (and to distract her from the preening men). The steady swimmers in the middle merely hope the newcomer will not go too slowly in front of them or too speedily behind them. The high speeders do not deign to notice anyone not adorned with goggles and a swim-cap. The new lady eyes the pool self-consciously. From London originally, she is not used to open curiosity, nor is she happy with the burden of talking to strangers. She opts for the middle lane, whose occupants seem the least daunting. At 9.15, a whistle sounds. The swimmers obediently emerge from the water and head for the showers. Once dry and dressed, the new lady expects to leave as alone as she arrived. Morley doesn’t work like that. ‘What’s your name love?’ asks Winnie. ‘Where are you from? Will you be coming again?’ ‘Don’t go yet’ adds Betty. ‘That’s John over there. Well, quite a few of them are called John, but it’s that one’s birthday today so we’re all going to Wetherspoons for breakfast. Would you like to come along?’ The relevant John smiles. ‘Yes, come for a coffee – why not?’ Other Johns and Petes stand around hopefully. Janet is reminded of eager puppy dogs as the swimmers wait for her answer. Suddenly her feeling of newness deserts her. Her reserve melts away. ‘OK’ she replies. And thus, so easily, she is part of Morley life.