Barry's peculiar tale here has a sinister edge and will leave you slightly damp, clammy and uncomfortable, just the way that possibly phoney swimming instructors like you, I'd wager...

A new swimming 'teacher' appeared mysteriously one day at the local baths.
As, apparently, one of the school's great swimming hopes, I was subsequently singled out for special tutelage, presumably to get me onto the path of the Olympics.
A special trip was organised where he and I drove to town. I distinctly remember trying on half a dozen pairs of Speedos and had to model each set for him, complete with twirls.
Following this, I was treated to a cream tea at the local cafe and while listening to his platitudes felt extraordinarily privileged to be the 'sports star with potential'.
I never saw him again after that day.