Fuck Time Out: Latchmere Leisure Centre
The very first thing I did when I started writing this article was call the Latchmere and ask if they still have a wave machine and an elephant slide. And the answer is yes – Wandsworth Council has heroically made sure that over the years those two Latchmere staples are standing strong. It makes me happy knowing that young South Londoners can experience the joys and the terrors of their wave machine.
Latchmere Leisure Centre was a large part of my childhood. Until I was 5 my mum, big brother and I lived a few minutes away in a little house in Battersea.
I remember my mum dressing us in our swim gear and herding us there in school holidays. We’d slide down the elephant slide straight into the swimming pool while she’d sit at the cafe a few feet away to have coffee with friends.
We’d swim straight to the back of the pool to wait by the giant grate from whence the wave machine began. As we waited my brother would tell me in no uncertain terms that sharks lived behind that grate. I’d bob there in my arm bands and frilly swimsuit envisioning looming teeth coming out the depths to shred my arm off.
Then a sound alarmingly similar to an air-raid siren would fill the air. Moments later every kid in the swimming pool would clamour to get into position to brave the wave machine. My brother would cling to the grate, the source of the wave machine, courageous enough to meet it head-on.
As the deafening sirens sounded overhead he’d shout “ALI, ALI – DON’T FORGET ABOUT THE SHARKS.”
That would be it for me. I’d go into a wild panic. Complete with arm bands and frilly swimsuit I’d start wildly flailing away from the grate to get to a less dramatic part of the pool. But by this time it was too late. The air-raid sirens had stopped and the wave machine had begun.
Giant walls of water crashed over me as I splashed helplessly towards my mum who sat a million miles away, a mere speck in the distance (it was actually about 10 metres). My arm bands thankfully kept my head above water as I got tossed and battered by the merciless torrents.
Max would laugh joyfully at the sorry scene with absolutely zero intention of helping me out.
Eventually I’d catch a wave and propel myself closer inland. My mum would finally notice and walk over as I washed up to shore in a crumpled heap.
She’d turn to her mates and sigh. “She does this every time.”
I’d lift my exhausted head and splutter a few words to let her know I was okay. I’d made it.
My mum would pick me up, a drowned rat in arm bands and frilly swimsuit and say “Come on Ali. Let’s get some chips.”
