#kenwood ladies pond

[pranzoalpentonetc]

More tagliatelle for dinner tonight. This time with zucchini:

Zucchini carbonara

Green, pg 69

I also made tagliatelle with anchovies, tomatoes and rocket earlier in the week (Tagliatelle con la rucola, Green pg 133).

Anyway, today I went to Kenwood Ladies' Pond at Hampstead. It was a cloudy 18 degrees but the water wasn't cold at all.

Kenwood Ladies' Pond

Entrance

Walk to the pond; was busy with children and dogs for the most part

Lots of people making their way up this hill (one of many in the park)

Dog swimming pond

Dogs are all off-lead and having a great time. Here is Fred’s cousin I believe.

[camdensedimenta]

Culture Decanted?

By Karla Le Pond Antoinette

Hampstead Village Voice - SEPTEMBER 2019

At The Pond.  Swimming at the Hampstead Ladies Pond. Contributors: Esther Freud. Deborah Moggach. Margaret Drabble. Jessica J.Lee et al Published in June 2019 by Daunt Books £9.99.

Daunt's anthology is mercifully free of the puff and pretension often poured upon our swimming ponds - usually known as The Highgate Ponds. (Phrases like “nihilistic velocity” by Hannah Jane Parkinson in The Guardian 2019, and “existential singularity” in 'The Ponds' film by Laser Guided Prods. 2019, are cases in point)

This is a delightfully easy and engrossing read judiciously peppered with poetry and erudition. The array of authors encompasses both century classic and nouveau vintages. Perhaps too much youth, say some regular swimmers who also questioned why Daunt Books only offered a £100 bookshop voucher instead of actual prize money for their competition to include an unpublished author. Other misgivings noted that none of the published writers amongst the pond’s swimming fanatics except Esther Freud and Jessica Lee were involved.

The solidarity forged and alliances expressed at the Ladies' are referenced only obliquely and with cool detachment. Yet so much politik-ing has been harnessed to keep the pond open and free these past forty years. But maybe that's another book.

For all women who visit, as well documented here, the Ladies' Pond is a rite of passage no matter what age one starts, even eighty! (Sadly, not for my Hampstead mother - she couldn't bear the cold.)  But passage to what? The word 'magical' appears predictably frequently yet only rarely is an attendant cosmology or mythology even alluded to as in Sharlene Teo's piece 'Echolocation' with her observation of 'matrilineal kinship' amongst the swimmers or in So Mayer's 'swimming is a dip in ritual time' and with Nina Mingya Powles' declaration, 'I have reached a place that is a sacred part of many women's lives'.

Though there are telling tales of courtship and bisexual lust, abortion and pregnant lifeguards, body consciousness and its' discontents, addiction and of course gossip, any anthology is notable not only for what it includes but excludes. One such omission, an obscure short story called 'The Pond' by Jill Cheung in Quim magazine (Issue 4, 1992, London, published by Belliveau & Moorcock) with its' jaw-droppingly explicit lesbian sex would, in truth, somewhat jar with the other material which mainly luxuriates in English loveliness.

Thanks to Google Maps and the infuriatingly incessant, non-permitted Instagramming, our pond is no longer the hidden bucolic idyll it once was. Women's space is necessarily sacred and as such should remain secluded. Let's hope this book, albeit an absorbing and beautiful addition to the swimming prose oeuvre, is the last of any such publicity for a generation.

Anyway, the best stories are told quietly by mischievous lifeguards on a cold wintry day when hardly anyone's about.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The Kenwood Ladies’ Pond Association's forty year archive will be deposited with The Bishopsgate Institute in London later in 2019. Includes letters from Glenda Jackson, Roger Deakin, Jeremy Corbyn, & Diane Abbot. Open to all.

[annashipper]

I can definitely see going fast with a stroller yelling faster with a toddler. May seem "aggressive" or w/e to this woman--people are funny--but can be a game between parent and child and there are jogging strollers for exercise. My question is who the hell goes from a pond to a pool? The lido at Parliament Hill is a pool, she's saying she came from the ladies pond (Kenwood) to go to a...pool? And the pond and pool are both open at 7am and are not close together. Doesn't make sense.

I’m very strict in that regard, especially when it’s poorly written Cumberfiction Nonny.

When we do get pics and/or video, I promise I’ll take this particular story seriously and start asking logical questions   ;o)

[aroses]

Fuck You, Aga (sp?)

You are never safe if you live in a Black female body. Not in your home, not on the street, and not in the Kenwood Ladies’ Ponds on Hampstead Heath.

This evening, after a beautiful and blissful day, three friends and I went for a swim in the Ladies’ Pond and it ruined my day.

While we were splashing about, enjoying the sun and each other’s glorious company, reflecting on the joy and magic of being in a “safe”, women-only space, this lifeguard called Aga (sp?) decided that we, three Black people and one white person, were having much too much fun. Blowing her whistle, she shouted to us, identifying the three Black people in our group as “incompetent swimmers” and demanding that we prove our proficiency by performing breast stroke and front crawl for her. This was frustrating and humiliating, as all of us had demonstrated that we were perfectly capable of swimming when we first for into the pond and swam to the buoy where we were at that moment.

In an attempt to, at least for my part, both calm her supposed fears for our safety and leave this disturbing situation, we swam away from her further into the pond. This could have been the end of it. We had, once more, demonstrated, by swimming away, that we could swim. However, Aga (sp?) proceeded to don her cap and sunglasses, mount her raft and sail over to us, forcing us to tread water for five minutes while she continued to humiliate us, saying that she was “worried for our safety”, “just doing her job”, and that it was “hard to see us because the water was so dark”.

The encounter ended with one of my friends, who is, by the way, one of the strongest swimmers I know, swimming away crying, at which point we all swam away, leaving Aga (sp?) glaring at us tight-lipped from her canoe.

What happened was not in and of itself an extreme act of violence, and I am sure that many people, especially people who don’t experience racism and violation on a day-to-day basis, would have been able to shrug it off, but it had me totally shook.

When I got home, I had an experience of body dissociation. I took all my clothes off and looked at my body, not able to recognise my limbs as my own, numb to the touch of my hands on my skin. I began to cry as I ran to the mirror, not recognising my reflection as myself, a common experience I’ve had during the worst moments of the mania, depression and body dysmorphia that have been a part of my life.

What I find hard to articulate in any specific moment of racist aggression is the fact that none of these sorts of acts are isolated, and each one has the potential to trigger a re-traumatisation, a plummeting back to the girl I was not so many years ago who scrubbed her brown skin until it was red and raw because the felt that her Blackness needed to be washed off, to the girl who tried to superglue her nostrils down to make her nose thinner, starve herself of food in order to prevent the natural swell of her big Black ass from taking up too much space, lived a practice of self-hatred internalised from the constant violence and aggression of the world.

It is a reminder that my body, however much I try to love and protect it, is not a safe place to live.

It was a reminder that the people who are supposedly there to protect all of us, like LIFEGUARDS, are not interested in protecting us if we have Black bodies.

I have spent a lot of time learning to love and accept myself, and to unlearn the racism and misogyny of this world, and it’s a daily practice. Today began as a beautiful day, a rare one in which I was living joyfully in this body of mine, appreciating its capacity to swim and stretch and climb trees and eat and experience pleasure, but this one act sent me crashing back down to reality. These sorts of aggressions hurt me because they remind me that the voices inside my head that tell me I am not worthy, not deserving of happiness, that my body is not beautiful or capable, that I am not and will never be good enough, are reflected in the views of many of the people with whom I share this Earth. This shit is not trivial, and it’s a serious harm to my mental health. How am I supposed to love myself when the world shows me every day that it hates me?

Today I wanted to celebrate the fact that I got a first in my undergraduate degree, a big achievement that marks the end of five years of ups and downs, mania and depression, defeats and triumphs, but I was, instead reminded that racism trumps any achievement, any demonstration of my intelligence or beauty. I cannot, and don’t want to, escape my Blackness. That means that I can expect to still be talked down to when I get my PhD, and that Aga (sp?) would still think I couldn’t swim if I swam the channel. Kenwood Ladies’ Association can expect my letter of complaint shortly.

[brigidcoady]

Busy busy day! V&A to see bag exhibition, popped to see Ma & Pa, swam at Kenwood Ladies Pond. Currently trying to clip Bella B’s claws. So far it is a draw #morningcommute #weekendwandering #v&a #bags #museum #swimming #wildswimming #hampstead #cats #catclaws #covid19 #coronavirus #lockdown #London (at Hampstead, United Kingdom) https://www.instagram.com/p/CQB1zyLFi0Q/?utm_medium=tumblr

[camdensedimenta]

The City of London Corporation which manages Hampstead Heath in North London is proposing 5 options to the future running of the historic swimming ponds. Most are completely unacceptable. Hideously rushed process - swimmer groups were given only days to digest and discuss before the all important meetings next week on March 9th & 11th. There are thousands of people locally who need consulting.

The City also offer a Hardship Fund for those who can’t afford the enforced charging of £4 p/d. This is patronising, divisive and will of course be limited. Their balance sheet is a minimum £2.7 billion at the moment and they increased their revenue last year by £58m which is enough to cover the running costs of the Heath for 10 years.

They are using the unavoidable death at the men’s last year and the madness at the lido on that very hot day in July as a pretext for forcing through charges and fully financialising the swimming ponds - their decades long ambition. The occasional overcrowding Is a separate issue to the money and would not be resolved by having barriers. In fact, management of the crowds would be far harder especially at the women’s. This year post-swim idlers were asked by staff to leave to let others queuing outside in to swim. They did so willingly precisely because they had not paid. It all worked really well. Lifeguards have told the Corporation they do not want barriers.

There are so many issues but it all boils down to politics not money. The City are nothing if not rent extractors.

The whole beauty of the ponds and particularly the women’s is that they provide an equal opportunity and a safe haven for all because they are free at the point of access. Many pay for a season ticket and many more would in order to stop enforced charging if only the system was easier to use. Also, the paying machines are shoddily maintained and often broken in to. Lots of money collected as cash by hand at the mixed pond last summer went missing. (No one was forewarned of this system).

There are convenants protecting free access to the ponds at the Heath in the Heath Act of 1871. Lord Iveagh of Kenwood House bequeathed the ponds for future generations to enjoy free swimming. Already it was a huge concession on the part of swimmers groups to permit voluntary payments back in 2005.

The City is riding rough shod over land law and treating users with contempt. We all know they’ve wanted to privatise the ponds for years. Staff hours and protections will suffer. Far fewer people will swim as they are already squeezed by ever increasing rents and generally expensive London living. Many will fling their overheated bodies in to the unregulated non-swimming ponds which is hazardous.

Please support THE PROTESTS:

6.15pm March 9th at Parliament Hill Yard by the cafe, tennis courts and staff building.

3.30pm March 11th at the Guildhall near Bank tube station.

KEEP THE SWIMMING PONDS OPEN TO ALL!!

Follow twitter: #pondsforswimmers #lovetheponds

Join some swimming user groups for updates.

KENWOOD LADIES POND ASSOCIATION

HIGHGATE MENS POND

MIXED POND

[camdensedimenta]

#PondsSoWhite

by Karla La Pond Antoinette

Hampstead Village Voice submission APRIL 2019 (unpublished & unabridged)

This New Year, a phenomenal surge of new winter swimmers unexpectedly followed the launch of 'The Ponds' film (2019), aided no doubt by that weirdly atypical February heatwave. Whatever the arguable merits and demerits of this popular feature length documentary, it's Oh-So-White profiling of all three Hampstead Heath swimming ponds, is an inescapable complexion which director Patrick McLelland cannot deny, try as he does. A local Indian woman approached him to interview her informal swimming group of NW5 habituees, the self-styled 'Kenwood Slappers'. All had their voices heard except she, the only B.A.M.E member.

The film makers' repeated defence that the Kenwood Ladies' Pond Association (KLPA) only sanctioned limited filming access does not embolden their argument. Our segment conveyed a sufficient sense of women's spiritual and playful political solidarity (excluding that nonsensical trans joke) with just four days' worth of footage. Yet our pond is a terrific tapestry of London's variously-melanated females.

To my knowledge, in 30 years, race has never overtly provoked anyone there. Class, gender, sex and even sexual activity, certainly have - though rarely. Swimsuits, for the most part, are a great leveller.

Photographer Ruth Corney being interviewed for The Ponds film (2019) ­Laser Guided Prods Ltd.

This film portrays the swimmers as mostly middle aged, middle class and oh-so-white. That may play in to a romanticised image of Hampstead and Highgate as an olde worlde Anglo-Saxon idyll replete with charming home county types, yet Blacks, Indians and Jews have lived locally for generations even at Kenwood House. For women, the pond is a refugia. A theatre of their sanctity - bodily, spiritual and sexual. The coalitions are sensed inwardly, while the men's are more outwardly. Many feel the Ladies' Pond should remain hidden and inaccessible to preserve its' power. The photography ban at our pond primarily protects religious women's privacy (Jewish and Muslim). But in truth, the rest of us feel like Gwyneth Paltrow's daughter these days. Instagram be damned! Lately, unwanted male ingressions both adult and little boys with their entitled mothers are an increasing annoyance. A sign of the impolite times? Or the felling of former tree cover by The City for their damned Dams Project in 2016? Too much publicity whatever. Dunno what happens at the mixed - apart from two hetero lifeguards meeting and marrying there last year. Lovely.

RELATED LOCAL EVENTS

Until mid-August Burgh House has a wonderful exhibition of the bathing ponds through history; includes vintage home photography, articles, books and stills from the film. www.burghhouse.org.u

On June 20th 2019, Daunt Books launch an anthology of women's pond stories by established writers such as Esther Freud, Margaret Drabble & Deborah Moggach. Our review out in the next issue.

June 2019 - 'City Swimmers' (2006) KLPA's film made with Margaret Dickinson will be re-screened at Highgate's 'Fair on the Square' in tandem with 'The Ponds' film. It documents swimmers' protest against The City's then threat to shut all ponds.  www.klpa.uk

Summer 2019, KLPA's material heritage (photos, articles, artwork & letters from Jeremy Corbyn, Glenda Jackson, Roger Deakin et al) will go to The City Of London's Bishopsgate Archive for all to access.

Visitor at Burgh House's 'Bathing Ponds of Hampstead' exhibition 2019

Addendum:

The film does work on several levels albeit bland ones.

The title is: 'Hampstead Heath: 350 hectares of forest and parkland.' Error number 1. Geologically, it is, in fact, ancient heathland with a managed woodland. Since Saxon times until the 1950's it was an agro-industrial landscape. My father, born locally in 1926 was once a Hampstead Councillor. He remembered walking idly amongst the dozy sheep and I'm not referring to his electorate - at least not knowingly!

There were female breasts on display in the film but no male butts for balance - unless one includes out of focus shots in the background at the nude sunbathing area in the men's changing rooms. No mention of gays at the ladies yet there was at the mens - mostly by straight guys, it seemed. That trans joke was idiotic and shouldn't have been included. (N.B. The BBC TV edit did cut it)

Why did no salaried female lifeguards want to be filmed - they know better.

Also, the music was ghastly. This is Camden! We have a reputation.

[brigidcoady]

First swim in Kenwood Ladies Pond done! 18.5C temp. Now binge watching Mare of Easttown - SO SO GOOD! #morningcommute #weekendwandering #outdoorswimming #kenwoodladiespond #hampsteadheath #swimming #mareofeasttown #covid19 #coronavirus #lockdown #London (at Hampstead, United Kingdom) https://www.instagram.com/p/CPx9I5hF4qr/?utm_medium=tumblr

[mrjohntsnyder]

‘Swimming is the new yoga’: why the fashion pack are taking a dip outdoors

Nationwide, there is a boom in wild swimming. Even the fashion pack, rarely ones to embrace the great outdoors, have got involved. Anne-Marie Curtis, editor-in-chief of Elle, swims regularly at the Kenwood Ladies’ Pond on Hampstead Heath in London, as does designer Louise Gray. Nearby, writer Eliot Haworth of Fantastic Man magazine can be found [...] from Swimmer's Daily https://ift.tt/2Nxc36i

[newwaveswimbuoy]

Credit to @theswimmingsisters : One of our favourite things is to introduce new people to wild swimming. This weekend Libby’s friend Kim joined us on our adventures. Kim admits she never would have gone wild swimming before meeting us. Last year Libby took her for a dip in Kenwood Ladies Pond and this weekend we got her in Derwentwater! Here are Libby and Kim in the water (Libby using her fab @newnewwaveswimbuoy as a rather comfortable pillow) #NewWaveSwimBuoy #swimming #swim #triathlon #swimbikerun #triathlete #swimmer #tri #trilife #triathlontraining #ironmantraining #ironmantri #openwater #tritraining #3athlonlife #tri365 #top_triathletes #thetrihood #triathletes #halfironman #triathlonlife #openwaterswimming #ironmantriathlon #loveswimming #swimrun #roadtoironman #trispiration #triatworld #70point3 #imkona — view on Instagram http://bit.ly/2IqDwqS

[ecopoeticsatchicago]

Writing Assignment Walking vs, the Internet

Alex Magdits

_____________

I tried to appreciate the winter, but the wind and snow and misery kept me indoors, away from the world, away from home. Its more comfortable that way. It’s safer. I can watch the snow from my window without experiencing, except when going to class after a few near-death experiences.

“Layered in ice

The roads in eternal desolation rests.

And winding further

the heavens mass their constant threat.

With icy breaths and frozen hopes

In isolated dimensions of the unconsciousness

I clench my shivering hands, my teeth chattering

as I hide from the winter.”

But the sun broke the winter’s eternal spell on a Saturday. I had worn a heavy jacket despite the fact that the weather.com app claimed it was going to be warm (but I’ve learned not to trust Chicago’s weather), and despite the fact that I was planning on spending the majority of my time either in an uber or in another human construction, far from the one I learned to call home here. As I left, my fingers were searching once more for the uber app because I don’t walk more than a few blocks if I don’t have to, but stepping outside I felt the cool newfound spring breeze and took a deep breath and realized I hadn’t breathed in months. And so, I began the walk from 51ststreet and Ellis Av. to 59thand Dorchester (International House).

I hadn’t walked very far when I realized I don’t live in Hyde Park. I live in the University of Chicago and that’s it; it’s my fault because I don’t walk enough. The more streets I crossed and sidewalks I wandered on, the more I began to experience Hyde Park. I was living in Hyde park (but not quite Chicago yet).

Hyde Park. Why a park? A park is a recreational communal space, typically grassy and green and natural. What I saw was paved streets, sidewalks, homes, and a meager attempt at creating some green and flowery lawns to decorate human constructions. Hyde Park was named after Hyde Park in London, and it does not live up to its counterpart. Hyde Park in London is an expansive park filled with willow trees, flowers, ponds, swans, and fountains. It is the sunlight of an otherwise cold and cloudy city. Hyde Park Chicago is a lie.

[Paul] Cornell saw the potential in the land along Lake Michigan south of the city, and in 1853 he purchased 300 acres of land, between what are now 51st and 55th streets, deeding some to the Illinois central Railroad for the purpose of establishing a passenger station for commuting to the city.

Many of the city’s “captains of industry” built large estate homes, especially in the Kenwood area north of 51st Street. The Swift and Wilson meat packing families, the Ryerson Steel family, railroad executives, and other businesses and professional men were among the owners in those early days.

I see potential too. The roots of trees encroaching on the sidewalks, causing cracks on human progress is the beginning of the war nature has declared. I took the time to notice this war around me. NO TRESPASSING doesn’t prevent squirrels from climbing onto the other side of the fence.  KEEP OUT will never make a swallow think twice about composing melodies of defiance on the barrier between human and nature.

I walked past some homes on S Berkley Av. that neglected to water their lawn, the evidence being the dead shrubs and grass that littered an otherwise regular plot of land that somebody pretended to own. I learned to pay attention to the freedom around me, the freedom everyone neglects for the sake of expediency and efficiency. Sometimes I was forced to stray from the disenthrallment I had found in walking by the honking of car and an impatient “move it!” from a lady who clearly had not taken the time to smell the roses.

Nevertheless, I persisted. Nichols Park was a comfort. Finally, large patches of grass. Finally, dirt and mulch and roots and the tweeting of songbirds and the majesty of a blade of grass thriving in a park. There’s freedom in treasuring something as simple as grass.

One Single Blade of Grass

One single blade of grass

Surrounded, but alone

Its beauty never recognized

Its uniqueness never shown

One single blade of grass

Lost in a verdant sward

Seen, but never noticed

Longing to be adored

One single blade of grass

Stepped on and neglected

Rose back up among the rest

Its strength never respected

One single blade of grass

Blindly following existence

Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall

Birth, time, resistance

I felt like a new born sparrow on her first flight, reaching undiscovered terrain because 55thstreet is meant for Chipotle and Shinju Sushi but I took a walk through a park I never thought to look at twice before now.  Encompassed by the spring’s bloom, my search for a hope began. As I grew closer to campus, it became more difficult to get lost. Street signs guided my way back to International house, but I became conscious of the fact that I would rather let the sun’s rays guided me to the undiscovered. Another time, I decided. It was time to find those shackles I had taken off on this walk and re-join the confines of my routine. But something had already changed. I now had the key. The key could unlock the chains; solemn like a setting sun, dimming, and hinting at a brighter tomorrow.

Hope

Hope for the young, the spirited

The free.

_________________________Working Notes_______________________________

I really enjoyed reading Henry David Thoreau’s Walking, so I decided to incorporate poetry and prose into this writing assignment and also used pictures like the BARGE reading assignment. My goal was to experience the freedom that Thoreau talks about in his work and to somehow do it justice in my writing. The location of the walk was not planned. I was actually about to call an uber back to International House when realized it was actually warm outside and felt the urge to walk. Remembering this assignment, I decided to focus closely on everything around me. It was difficult at first to concentrate because there’s so much that distracts from nature and the experience of walking, from cars driving by to kids screaming in a nearby park to really cute puppies walking past me that I just have to stop and pet. I thought it was strange to incorporate the history if Hyde Park into my assignment (http://www.hydeparkhistory.org/2015/04/30/the-history-of-hyde-park/) but in the end, I was surprised that I actually liked the contrast between the Hyde Park I witness with that of the past, and also with that of Hyde Park in London. I liked the experience I had while researching, walking and creating this work because it forced me to be more in tune with nature and my surroundings, more so than I would sitting in my dorm room doing homework.

[proviralmedia-blog]

Feminists outraged over Hampstead ladies pond change

Feminists outraged over Hampstead ladies pond change

The City of London Corporation modified the coverage for the Ladies Pond Self-identifying trans ladies can use the Hampstead pond and altering rooms Some members of the Kenwood Ladies’ Pond Association disagree with the plan The Mayday four Women group have referred to as for the choice to be overturned  By Darren Boyle for MailOnline Published: 14:04 EST, 10 February 2018 | Updated: 01:42 EST,…

[bombaysaphir]

Cette semaine, la mer dans mon ventre

Cette semaine Il y a quelque chose dans l'air de mon coeur qui me donne le tourni. Mon ventre tourne sur lui-même. Il se retourne la nuit dans les miasmes de la cigarette juste fumée à la fenêtre de ma chambre, celle qui était pour dire au monde "yolo, vous me volerez pas mon insouciance". Et il y a mes règles qui surgissent violemment après des mois. Je suis blessée et je saigne mais je ne sais pas pourquoi je suis blessée et je saigne. Un soir, le dos couché sur le canapé du salon, les jambes en angle droit dans le vide, mes genoux de basketballeuse qui s'offrent sur la pièce avec indécence. Une discussion avec Carmen. Elle me dit dans sa voix-mouchoir-de-Cholet que notre arrière-grand père lui a parlé, il a dit qu'il nous aimait. Il y avait un aigle sur le terrain vague du camp de Pologne. Henry l'a bien vu aussi. L'aigle. Carmen dit que c'était lui le messager de Jean Saint Bris ce jour-là. L'aigle disait à Carmen que Jean nous aimait de tout son amour, il aimait ce que nous devenions, nous les femmes de la famille. Elle pleure maintenant dans le téléphone. Elle a mal pour la terre. Elle a mal à son animisme, elle a mal à sa conviction de viscère. Elle me le dit du bout de sa voix outre-Atlantique et toute mouillée. C'est le Maghreb d'Annie aussi, les héritages du sang tu vois, c'est la Loire, les villes qu'on creusait inlassablement dans la glaise de Montrelais quand on était petites. Oui Carmen enfant adorait la peau du lait et la glaise de Loire plus que tout. Elle me lit un conte de notre livre commun, femmes qui dansent avec les loups, une femme à qui on retire quelque chose. Je l'avais pas lu. Carmen a fait mon éducation de femme libre. La nuit est venue et j'ai fait un cauchemar violent. Des femmes qui se donnent la mort pour moi. Une, se suicidera depuis un plongeoir haut comme un chateau dans le ciel. C'est peut-être les petites cartes postales du cap d'antibes que j'ai chipé à l'oncle Gonzague dans la chambre bleue. Il y a des plongeoirs en ciment dessus. C'est peut-être parce que ces temps-ci, je commence souvent mes journées par des bains dans l'étang d'Hamstead Heath. A Hamstead Heath, Sarah doit toujours trouver un moyen de renverser quelque chose sur moi. Du café ou sa gourde d'eau. C'est curieux sa maladresse. On en rigole au nez et à la barbe des nageuses sauveteuses. Il est 7h30 du matin. C'est notre moment d'exaltation avant la journée laborale qui va commencer. Sarah s'est sentie empty après son week-end avec Angie. Laure a fait l'amour dans la mer morte avec un soldat de Tsahal à 16 ans. Vincent veut faire une soirée où il régnera sur le son, il dit qu'il n'y aura pas le choix. C'est tout ou rien. Jérémy chante au micro : "Balafre, nous sommes balafres" avec les jambes en Presley. Necla m'apprend à respirer dans son divorce. Elle dit que c'est pour ça que je deviens rouge quand je fais de l'exercice : je ne respirais pas. Et la nourriture que je vomis dans les toilettes de mon travail. Je voudrais vivre sans frigo, alors je la conserve pas, je la mange et je la vomis. Il y a un étau autour de mon coeur. Ouais c'est ça un truc qui ne passe pas physiquement. J'ai mal. Au ventre. Comme c'est étrange. Je m'en remet aux bras des gars qui chantent leur mélancolie. Des toréadors du malheur contemporain. Je replonge dans PNL. Leur échec de l'amour, leur insatisfaction, leur clairvoyance, leur pureté, leur tout ou rien. C'est des entiers. C'est le Roi Arthur version plan d'urbanisme. J'écoute tellement PNL que je cultive une ville en moi. Une ville Delouvrier avec des aqueducs dans mon encéphale, des lotissements dans mes souvenirs, des stations Esso sur mon système vasculaire. Ma ville intérieure ressemble un peu à Marseille ou à Cap d'Antibes. C'est une ville qui me comprend bien quand je dois exprimer ma rage. Ouais voilà, ma ville-rage avec la mer pour l'assainir, pour stopper le feu. Mais tout ça, c'est dans mon estomac, contenu. Mon visage lui se marre sans cesse. Avec Sarah, bien des choses nous font rire, dès 7h du matin, à l'arrêt de bus 214 sur la colline de Paramount Hill, on se prend à rire. Du type qui dévale sur son vélo tour de France en costume de tweed: on rit parce que le vent a posé sa cravate sur son épaule, impeccablement, comme une langue. Sarah elle dit des phrases en anglais, je comprends pas toujours, mais je sais que j'aurai dit les mêmes en français, alors c'est pas grave. On rit des visages qui nous surprennent et nous émeuvent, de la forme des nuages et des chiens et de nous. De ma manière ratée de dire "Hackney Downs". De sa politesse maladivement anglaise. De sa famille qui fait des voyages de l'extrême au pôle nord alors que moi ma famille c'est plus des voyages en Italie sous les cyprès qu'elle aurait fait à la place. On rit de son énergie de forcenée. Et ensuite, je lui fais promettre qu'on ne deviendra pas les old ladies de Kenwood Pond, on sera mieux que ça, on sera des Natalia Ginzburg et moi, je serai princesse des arbres, des bodies, princesse des ancrés, des hauts, des touts, des puissants. Ce soir devant l'hippopotamus de la Gare du Nord, maman m'attend et elle a très mal au ventre. Une douleur inextricable qui la ronge. Elle dit qu'elle n'avait pas réalisé combien l'intestin contrôlait tout.

[camdensedimenta]

Published: March 2017 HAMPSTEAD VILLAGE VOICE by Karla La Pond Antoinette

The theme of this year's KLPA* AGM chimed with 2017's hashtag-friendly feminist mantra 'Nevertheless She Persisted...' (pond swimmers were out in full force at the Women’s March in Piccadilly in January)

Our outgoing Chair, the formidable Jane Shallice exhorted us to congratulate the group on its' phenomenal success in stonewalling the pond's neighbouring mansion-expanding multi-millionaires and The Corporation of London on their corner-cutting connivances.

Most impressive of all is the David and Goliath wrangle with The City of London (Corp's big daddy) to allow seasonal lifeguards the option to reject 'Zero Hour' contracts which have been imposed on them for the last two years, in favour of short term contracts with benefits, sick pay etc. The City, eventually conceded. And this, all the more astonishingly, in the year when 'Zero Hours' hit an all new high in the UK. Lest we forget, The City is one of the wealthiest institutions on the planet and, in the C17th, it practically invented global corporate capitalism – the cause of so much labour 'precarity'. Yet somehow, in that paradoxical space occupied in modern times only by The City functioning as both a huge financial institution and a borough Council, there lurks a discrete sense of the public good. A chink in their corporate armour? Brava Jane and her cohorts for cracking it!  

Non-pond swimmer Heath Superintendent Mr. Bob Warnock (“..who needs friends when you've got Jesus”) descends unannounced and with alarming frequency at the women's pond. His purported purpose amongst all the micro-managing is to ensure that the BAM NUTTAL sign-off is above board. It isn't nor will be. The new spillway is a cesspit breeding an unseasonally-early infestation of midges. Women sat by the hut area must remember to shut their chattering mouths to avoid swallowing the buzzing masses. That's a big ask!

After all the anxious upheaval of the works, nearly a year on the Heath's garden restoration seems to be at an impasse. Women, as before, are taking matters in to their own green hands by donating plants and planting power to revive the pond's famously glorious floriferousness. CALL OUT! Does anyone have recollections of the late Mary Land, a womens' pond habitue? Her family appeal for stories to include in their tree planting dedication ceremony at the pond this May.

QUOTE OF THE MONTH In the nipple-friendly, labia-loving 9 degrees water, a 50-something swimmer shrieks to her friend: “Oh my God, my pelvic floor is like an ice rink.” (Then on exiting the pond) “Gosh, now it's gone into spasm”. Said friend remarks unironically, 'Well, love, enjoy it while you can” Both laugh uproariously. Vivid.

(Kenwood Ladies Pond Association has 500+ members, with 800+ registered for winter swimming)

[thissummeriwentswimming]

20.8.16 // 51°34'00.1"N 0°09'36.4"W // Kenwood Ladies' Bathing Pond // London

[reachabovethetrees]

Friday 8th of June 2018 // Shabbat Today I visited the Kenwood Ladies’ Pond at Hampstead Heath to do a makeshift pre-Shabbat mikveh. It was the most magical place: a gate with a big sign saying that no men were allowed, and beyond the gate a wonderland where nymphs of all shapes and sizes and ages are frolicking in the fields and waters. I got to feed some baby ducks with my own hands, and I swam to the centre of the pond to immerse myself completely and say b’rachot. Salade chèvre chaud for dinner, and my love is now asleep in my arms on the sofa, and the candles are flickering on the windowsill. Shabbat shalom. ❤️