![]() ![]() The poolside restaurant is airy and bright, the food delicious.Īs I’m shown around the place, Mark Thwaites, one of the directors of the company behind the Lido, refers to the place as a “ l ee-do”. The restoration has been sympathetic the showers, the massage rooms and the sauna facilities are straightforward and have a quirky Scandi feel to them – as does the “shower naked” policy that swimmers are encouraged to adopt before they swim. After discovering it in 2012, they began the painstaking refurbishment of the grade II listed building, finally opening the doors last month. Unused since its closure in 1974, the lido’s future hung in the balance until the team behind Bristol Lido rescued it. The facility had fallen into disrepair after years of neglect by local councils. The Thames Lido team has done a great job. Every now and again a gust of wind would catch the branches and a few autumn leaves would flutter down delicately into the space and scatter themselves artfully on the pool. It has a beautiful outside-yet-inside vibe: nestled away, while overhead the sky and the leafy tops of tall trees peeked over the walls. I thought it might feel chilly, but there was no wind in this protected courtyard. Steam gently rose from the water, which is heated to a cool 25C – perfect for swimming. I swam at 7.30 in the morning, alone, on a grey rainy day, in the clean fresh water of the 25m, blue-italian-tile-clad infinity pool, in the glass walled courtyard. I was prepared to sneer and moan about the place and my swim, about elitism and snobbery – as many critics of this place have already.īut as soon as I walked in the front door, I fell in love. I love the idea of the democracy of swimming. Having heard about the opening, I was initially sceptical. The lido walls wrap the pool like arms protectively encircling a secret heart. It was a secluded and closed affair: with red brick walls two storeys high, with no windows to allow outsiders to peer in. It was designed in a less showy era, as a haven for private women-only swimming. However, this place – once the Ladies Swimming Baths in Reading’s Kings Meadow, built in 1902 – is surprisingly different. They speak of holidays and sunshine and sociability and fitness. And redolent of ocean liners, they let in light and sun and fresh air and are for crowds and cavorting. They have room for sunbathing and socialising, wide vistas and low walls. The lidos we know and love in the UK, built mostly in the 1930s, are generally expansive and spacious. I’d feel much more self conscious if I didn’t know that I am undoubtedly having a better time than they are. As I swim, I wonder if maybe I should be doing something more entertaining: a few handstands perhaps, or some synchronised swimming, a demonstration of the Australian Crawl? Instead I’m a sensibly clad “serious” swimmer complete with cap and goggles, sauntering up and down with a lazy front crawl – up and down, up and down. It feels a slightly amusing juxtaposition.
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