I’m going scuba diving this morning. It’s something I haven’t done in a very l o n g time.
It’s a quick dive today to make sure I remember which end of the regulator to put in my mouth before I dive the sunken navy vessel the HMAS Brisbane on Saturday.
When I phoned to book the dive the bloke on the phone asked when I’d last dived. Not the quick dip in the shark tank at Underwater World, but a proper ocean dive? Years and years I told him.
Then I got off the phone and realized I haven’t dived since the twentieth century. In fact the last time I dived, John Howard was still Prime Minister and people were busy stuffing their hard-earned under their mattresses for fear of the Y2K bug. Mum and Dad were spending Saturday night on the couch watching Hey Hey, joggers were exercising awkwardly while listening to their skipping discmans and I looked like this.
Last night my friends and family were supportive. They spoke about Mick Fanning and their own shark encounters. Even the Big Sister got in on the action – her joke for this week’s newsletter was this:
So wish me luck dear friends and any shark who might be reading this?
Fair warning: I have a mean right hook!