Jim and I have been insulting each other for some years now. This is
normally done at morning training, as we rarely see each other elsewhere to
do so. Also, having just fallen out of bed and in to the pool at 6 a.m.,
there is plenty of ammunition for well judged insults which are safe from
any action for slander, as they are entirely accurate. This is not to say
that we intend any real offence by the insults, it's more a comradely way of
acknowledging each other's presence. We share the kind of gritty lower deck
Britishness, which, when faced with foul weather comments "lovely day", and
views politeness as something which might be necessary with strangers, but
is a real sign of hostility if used with a friend. Part of this is an
ingrained suspicion of anyone who shows any sign of enthusiasm for what he
is doing. Reluctance can be an art form when practised enough. Surly, grumpy
grumbling lookers-on-the black-side we are to be sure; and we would be proud
of it, if pride weren't frown upon too.

Imagine then, the effect on us when an Olympic swimmer came to give our club
a pep-talk on what he had learned from 3 years training in America. This
young Adonis held all the women spell-bound simply with his physique, which
looked like he had swallowed a washboard. None of them took in a word he
said, but they all thought him wonderful. His demonstration just made us men
hate him for how few strokes he took to swim a length, and the way he
effortlessly pulled himself vertically on to the poolside from the deep end
with none of the frenzied elbow and knee scraping it takes us to flop out
horizontally.

O.K., so he was a good swimmer. But what stuck in our mind was what he said
about motivation and attitude. In his U.S. College squad, he enthused, it
was 'de rigeur' to pump each other up all the time with greetings of "You're
looking good today", and "I can see a P.B. in those eyes" and so on. During
training, they indulged in mutual encouragement interspersed with Rebel
Yelps and cries of "Go Clint!"- or whatever their name was , and "All
 Right!" (pronounced 'Oooow Raht!'-loudly) and so on. and on, and on. By the
end of the evening his infectious enthusiasm must have go to me, because
when Jim muttered something in to his smouldering pipe about seeing me at
"Bleedin' morning training" I opened my eyes wide and shouted "Ooow Raht!" -
loudly.

The post hypnotic suggestions left by our guest speaker were still there
next morning. Seeing Jim stripping off in the changing rooms I would
normally try to buck his spirits up by a sharp intake of breath and a
sympathetic enquiry such as, "Have you seen a doctor about that?". But this
morning I found myself saying, "You're looking good Jim!" There was a frozen
silence among the other swimmers, most of whom had not heard the previous
evening's lecture. Jim, who would normally say something like "Shut your
face you fat git",  responded instead with a lively "You're looking good
yourself."  No one spoke as we filed in to the pool, but I saw a lot of
sideways looks.

Continuing my theme of mutual encouragement, as we were about to dive in I
shouted to Jim "Do it for me Jim, baby!". His last words before disappearing
in a welter of foam were "Oooh Rhat, man!". At the end of our first lengths
I noticed that the other swimmers were still stood talking among themselves
and glancing at us instead of swimming, but I decided to ignore them. Back
in the changing room after the session, I said to Jim "What do I see in
those eyes of yours, man?", and he cooed back "P.B. man. Pure P.B." And so
we went off to shower, taking it in turns to say "You're lookin' good, 
man!".

Unusually, no one else seemed to want to be in the shower at the same time
as us. This would have been O.K., except that we noticed in the changing
room now everyone else had moved to the further end, leaving Jim and me
together, isolated.

I got the message. Such enthusiastic behaviour was not only unbecoming in
two middle aged splashers, but for us to suddenly start complimenting each
other with little or no clothes on seemed distinctly sinister to the
onlookers. I decided to revert to type before my wife heard about this. She
could become worried and started reading books about the Mid-Age Crisis, and
that sort of thing. I could end up in an Encounter Group, and even my warped
sense of humour won't stretch to that.

So in true British fashion Jim and I have compromised, weaving our
trans-Atlantic chum's enthusiasm with our own innate defeatism. Nowadays I
will still say to Jim, "You're looking good." But then add, "Swimming crap,
but looking good,"

When I shout "Go Jim", he will reply "I went before I came in to the pool.".
Occasionally he will look in to my early morning bloodshot eyes and say "I
can see a PUB in those eyes".

As for the Rebel Yelp, I never did go much on that - but depending on what
he had for dinner the night before, Jim can do a good old British version of
one.