I had a little laugh to myself today when something on the radio reminded me of a funny conversation which took place in a swimming pool some time ago.

I had just inched my way down the pool steps (well, eight-inched) until I was standing in cold water up to my waist, and I wasn’t too keen on a sudden total immersion, when I noticed several small flies floating on the surface. Strangely, perhaps to you, seeing the dead flies made me quite gleeful.

“Geoff,” I called out to my brother-in-law who was on a sunlounger, “I wonder if you would be kind enough to find me the poolnet.” (Yes, I always ask in a grovelling way when I don’t want to get out of a pool and find the poolnet for myself.)

“I’d much rather catch the flies than swim, I said to Chris, who was in the pool already and very well aware that my alternative to swimming on this occasion was a ploy to delay the full immersion.

“And to think I thought you were looking forward to having a swim with me,” my husband joshed.

Geoff obligingly brought me the net and began to chuckle:

“Well Sally,” he began, “I always knew you were a Venus, but I didn’t know that you were a Venus Fly-catcher!”

I knew he was being suspiciously complimentary, still it was better than being called a maneater!