The weather has finally turned, the bank holidays are all around us, and the dry suit has been dusted... its time to dive. But can this imminent feeling that you should be getting into the water sometimes fill you with dread? Is the devil on your shoulder telling you to increase the life insurance?
Or maybe it is a time of ecstasy for you, like that feeling of finding an old WWI UXB in Portland Harbour!
Well there is one easy way to find out which boat you sit in, just take this simple quiz – Are YOU a nervous diver?
HEART RATE
(a) Above 120 beats per minute? Your chest thuds as fast and loud as an illegal rave from the 80's. Firestarter by the Prodigy seems slow compared to the whooshing noise you hear thudding in your neck. How can you slow this insanity down? Sadly beta blockers are a no-no for the diver.
(b) Below 60 beats per minute? Mo Farah would be proud to have this slow tick in his ticker. You are fit and chilled and the only thing that will get this baby to beat faster is a 6 foot spider crab dressed as Rolf Harris.
BOWELS
(a) What are they telling you? A loud gurgling that the docs call borborygmii, but your mates call pre-wind, is upsetting the drive to the dive site. No one can smoke in the car in case of an explosion. Putting a rucksack on your abdomen to dull the sound only accentuates it to that of the bellow of a Cave Troll from Lord of the Rings 1 (aka the rubbish one).
(b) You haven't been to the khasi for a week on account of the anorexia caused by the excitement of seeing a fish pretty soon!
BLOOD PRESSURE
(a) High. Your lady friend was making a borscht soup, and whilst choosing the best beetroot, mistook your face near the Morrison's veg counter for one of these tubers.
(b) Low. Your lady friend was making a soup and whilst you lay there in front of the TV she had called the ambulance on account of your deathly white face and overall pallor.
THERAPIST
(a) Your pre dive session was a bit special. Your hysteria overwhelmed the poor bearded empathizer. Issues of your parental abuse and bullying at work that cause your long-suffering self-esteem were vastly over-shadowed by your fear of probable shark attack and drowning. That and the worry of the group laughter as you put the first stage the wrong way round on your cylinder.
(b) DNA. Did not attend. You were too busy sharpening your dive knife.
THE BUDDY
(a) The pre-dive check goes horribly wrong. Their octopus is not yellow enough and not properly attached so that you can easily remove it when you need it, and you will need it. The ensuing punch to the face now means that they can't hold the reg in their mouth due to a lack of teeth. The skipper's comments of "over-reaction" were met with your pre-meditated mutiny and lthe eventual leaving him concussed, floating and bleeding above the shark feed site.
(b) Having seen Anaconda the movie last week, you slip a deadly insect into his second stage so that you can practise your rescue skills during the dive.
THE BOAT
(a) Despite the fact that the toilets have not been cleaned for 2 years, you spend the most part of the trip to the dive site in here. Ignoring the rules of gentle pumping of the handle, it comes off in your hand. This is used later to assault anyone who asks if you are OK.
(b) The biggest waves and the noisiest party boat next door, as well as the 3 Arabic coffees you inhaled earlier, do not disturb your sleep next to the engine room.
DIVE SITE
(a) Perfect, a shallow shore dive off the hotel pontoon, where you can see the surface at all times and in case of an emergency, exit can be aided by simply standing up.
(b) Perfect, a 10 kilometre cave system penetration to tell Rick Stanton he left the lights on his car outside. Might have to borrow a spare tank to get back though. But if not, no worries, there might be some bubbles on the ceiling that are breathable.
DESCENT
(a) "OMG, I can't equalize. Damn, I've over done it and gotten alternobaric vertigo and everything's gone into a spin. Gonna vomit now. Better get up real quick. Sod my buddy".
(b) "Nice how the sun's rays pick out that anemone and give it a beautiful greenish colour. I'll show my buddy."
BOTTOM
(a) Your air is on red, a tank sucked dry and your buddy's spare reg is welded into your mouth by fast drying saliva. The Instructor's signal for "Are you OK?" is met with wild eyes and a mask full of tears.
(b) You wonder what's just over the dip there, looks like a deep drop to another shelf where there could be a fascinating sponge that may have a crab in it. Or even a lobster. Either way you love an invertebrate.
NIGHT DIVE
(a) Nope – the hotel has a Eurovision Party.
(b) Yup – don't need a torch.
POST-DIVE
(a) High fives all round. Kiss the skipper and crew and heavily tip the guy who puts your camera in the fresh water bucket. Stupidly put your name down for the Thistlegorm tomorrow and regret it later.
(b) Keep your wet-suit on. The anchor could get stuck and someone will have to go down to pull it out. If not, maybe the prop needs a clean.
How did you do?
Mostly (a)s: DICE MAN. With death. Swap your kit for a Zorb.
Mostly (b)s: ICE MAN. Too cool for the next Antarctic expedition, better become a Saudi based Instructor.
