The only sporting activity I am any good at is swimming. When I was about four, my Dad walked into the North Sea with me on his shoulders and said: “Swim to my toes.” He then floated on his back, popped his feet out of the surf, and swam deeper into the sea, leaving me with a sink or swim option – literally. Amazingly, that experience sparked a love of the water, and summers were spent running over shingle beaches and being rolled on and off the shore like a piece of flotsam. I have swum, over the years, at any opportunity – be it sea, lake or pool. I have also swum in some far more beautiful places than the East Anglian coast. A very memorable trip was on a dive boat in South Africa. I don‘t Scuba dive and have a healthy fear of sharks (Jaws movies – thanks for that) but whilst the others went off with their tanks and masks I convinced myself that this was too much of an opportunity to miss. Knowing that sharks attack upwards from the deep I decided that to swim around the boat would make my silhouette larger and less ‘snack-sized’. On my third rotation I was relaxing slightly and feeling quite calm when a dark, triangular shape broke the water about 100 yards to my left. At this point, in the style of Scooby Doo, I turned my arms into propellers and re-boarded the boat at high speed. The Captain was a little surprised at my sudden re-arrival: at which point the rest of the pointy killing machine revealed itself to be a small pod of dolphins – much to his amusement.
If I were a clever person this event should have taught me to think carefully before embarking upon any more water-based adventures. I recalled this piece of self advice whilst hurtling down a brightly coloured, over-sized slide into what can only be described as a giant plughole at a water park in Spain. I was flushed out into a holding pool and told off by the lifeguard for coming down the wrong way round. I damply explained that I had no choice or control over which limb led the charge and he should be grateful I wasn‘t dead. His parting shot was to point out that my left boob was less contained than my right after my antics.
Move on three years and the opportunity to experience being towed behind a speed boat on a 15ft inflatable banana arises. Yes, dear reader – I threw all common sense and past learning to the wind and found myself bouncing along in an over-sized life jacket half a mile off the Turkish coast. When Captain Funny took a sharp turn, hilariously tipping us all off into the depths I knew I was in trouble. My husband, brother-in-law and Captain all grabbed at my life jacket to help me back onto my fruit-based nemesis, at which point I began to slide downwards through my jacket. I started to giggle, as did my ‘helpers‘ and eventually, half-drowned, I was hauled safely aboard with not a shred of dignity left intact. So next time I am tempted to slide, ride, flume or bounce I trust that now I will have more sense. Unlikely though – don’t you think …?
