Going Under : part 2
I cant actually recall what got me thinking about taking a scuba diving course. Yes, well, of course it had everything to do with turning 40, but diving?
I have never been a strong swimmer, I learned late and did not enjoy my experiences of school swimming lessons. Even now the smell of chlorine sends me straight back to that new town swimming centre, when, at the age of 8, a swimming coach named Mr Salmon ( no kidding) leaned over me at the side of the pool. With Popeye arms the white vested 60 something would crack a weak joke before sending children to their watery doom.
" What did the canary eat for breakfast? Tweetabix! " Push....SPLASH!
At that time I couldn't even swim!
I never voluntarily choose to take my kids swimming and the Jaws films traumatised me as a teenager ( except the third one, of course, which was just made for giggles).
Everything points to a man who would never, in a million years, choose to risk his life by offering himself to the cold embrace water. Yet, here I am. And why?
For the past 5 weeks Tuesday evenings were given over to making the short joinery to a local pool and learning to dive with Scuba Club. At 10 in the evening a small group of us were being put through our paces by our Dive Masters.
"Isn't this bloody amazing! " Stanley, another trainee diver, would say to me.
" Yeah, I guess" " I would reply.
At that time I didn't realise how amazingly bloody it would become...