jimmy_the_builder
Well-Known Member
Picture the scene: we've had a perfectly pleasant bank holiday weekend on the boat - a slightly rocket-fuelled evening out with forumites jfm, eme and myag on Saturday night, breakfast at 2pm on Sunday, and even a bit of boating on Monday morning. We're all checked in for the 1810 home from Nice airport, so there's just time for a civilised afternoon tea on board, then the usual last-minute dash to the airport on the scooter, with the normal amount of contingency time, ie none.
Sounds like a reasonable plan, huh? Tea and financiers all despatched (they are rather lovely little cakes that swmbo has a weakness for), bags packed and loaded on to the scooter, all I have to do is lock the boat and, oh ffs, my plan definitely did not include dropping the scooter keys off the passerelle and into the murky depths below. What now skipper, you dopey idiot?
Well, my first stupid idea was to try fishing for the keys with a magnet. Fat chance: the keys are non-ferrous, so my magnet idea was just another way to use up our contingency time: oh wait, we haven't got any. Need to think of something else, pdq.
At this point swmbo decided to change into her bikini. I'm not certain that I fully understood the rationale for this, but I least I had something nice to look at while I was tearing my hair out. Oh wait, again: you haven't got any hair, you bald dopey idiot, what are you talking about now? I'm obviously a bit stressed.
OK, I'm completely not a fan of swimming in the marina - but the clock is ticking, online check-in has closed and I'm out of options. There's nothing else for it in the time available - I'm going to have to go turd-dodging, sorry I mean snorkelling in Port Vauban (as I wrote this sentence I became aware of some piece of gristly matter caught between two of my teeth, dear god please let it be something from my British Airways dinner and not some ghastly aftermath from the marina).
The flight's departing in an hour now and I'm still on the boat. Run downstairs, find my St George Cross swimming trunks (they're the latest style from Vilebrequin dontcha know, or maybe Tesco, I'm not sure...), throw the cockpit seating everywhere in my increasingly urgent hunt for mask and fins, and splash! I'm in the water.
Faaark it's cold. I know it's the south of France, but still, it's only the start of May, the locals are still wearing hats and scarves and there's plenty of snow on the mountains. Yep, it's still really cold, I think I'm hyperventilating. It's really really cold. Actually it's not so bad now, I've acclimatised and it's time to dive.
In truth it's not that deep at the back of my boat, maybe 3m, but the vis isn't great and there are a lot of hazards. My main worry is finding my way back up to the relatively small patch of water between the quai and my bathing platform. Still, nothing ventured etc, so big breath and down I go.
Finally - a little bit of luck: there are my keys, insolently winking at me from the seabed: I snatch the little bastards up and return to the surface with all the grace and precision of a startled manatee. (Hint: if you haven't seen a startled manatee, they aren't very graceful. Or precise...). Luckily I manage not to get stuck under the concrete quai sponsons, or impale myself on the props; I pop back up next to the platform to be greeted by swmbo wielding a hose. Admirable motive but thanks love, it's bloody freezing in here and now I can't breathe cos your blasting me in the face with a high pressure water hose, wt absolute f?
Finally I'm allowed back on to my own boat, a very rapid shower, very carefully lock up and leave, a naughtily quick run to the airport and we made the flight just in the nick of time, phew, which is where I'm writing this now.
I think I need a large vodka, oh and a floating key chain. And a hepatitis b/c shot, pronto. FFS.
Sounds like a reasonable plan, huh? Tea and financiers all despatched (they are rather lovely little cakes that swmbo has a weakness for), bags packed and loaded on to the scooter, all I have to do is lock the boat and, oh ffs, my plan definitely did not include dropping the scooter keys off the passerelle and into the murky depths below. What now skipper, you dopey idiot?
Well, my first stupid idea was to try fishing for the keys with a magnet. Fat chance: the keys are non-ferrous, so my magnet idea was just another way to use up our contingency time: oh wait, we haven't got any. Need to think of something else, pdq.
At this point swmbo decided to change into her bikini. I'm not certain that I fully understood the rationale for this, but I least I had something nice to look at while I was tearing my hair out. Oh wait, again: you haven't got any hair, you bald dopey idiot, what are you talking about now? I'm obviously a bit stressed.
OK, I'm completely not a fan of swimming in the marina - but the clock is ticking, online check-in has closed and I'm out of options. There's nothing else for it in the time available - I'm going to have to go turd-dodging, sorry I mean snorkelling in Port Vauban (as I wrote this sentence I became aware of some piece of gristly matter caught between two of my teeth, dear god please let it be something from my British Airways dinner and not some ghastly aftermath from the marina).
The flight's departing in an hour now and I'm still on the boat. Run downstairs, find my St George Cross swimming trunks (they're the latest style from Vilebrequin dontcha know, or maybe Tesco, I'm not sure...), throw the cockpit seating everywhere in my increasingly urgent hunt for mask and fins, and splash! I'm in the water.
Faaark it's cold. I know it's the south of France, but still, it's only the start of May, the locals are still wearing hats and scarves and there's plenty of snow on the mountains. Yep, it's still really cold, I think I'm hyperventilating. It's really really cold. Actually it's not so bad now, I've acclimatised and it's time to dive.
In truth it's not that deep at the back of my boat, maybe 3m, but the vis isn't great and there are a lot of hazards. My main worry is finding my way back up to the relatively small patch of water between the quai and my bathing platform. Still, nothing ventured etc, so big breath and down I go.
Finally - a little bit of luck: there are my keys, insolently winking at me from the seabed: I snatch the little bastards up and return to the surface with all the grace and precision of a startled manatee. (Hint: if you haven't seen a startled manatee, they aren't very graceful. Or precise...). Luckily I manage not to get stuck under the concrete quai sponsons, or impale myself on the props; I pop back up next to the platform to be greeted by swmbo wielding a hose. Admirable motive but thanks love, it's bloody freezing in here and now I can't breathe cos your blasting me in the face with a high pressure water hose, wt absolute f?
Finally I'm allowed back on to my own boat, a very rapid shower, very carefully lock up and leave, a naughtily quick run to the airport and we made the flight just in the nick of time, phew, which is where I'm writing this now.
I think I need a large vodka, oh and a floating key chain. And a hepatitis b/c shot, pronto. FFS.
, in fact right up there with henryf's finest works....top marks!
