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2004 New Year Newsletter. Christmas time, Mistletoe and wine' Turkey's bum stuffed with parsley and thyme. Oh they don't write songs like that any more. Stoppit!!
I heard that. But wasn't Christmas great. Such a change from drinking all that nasty
cold beer and stuffing our faces. We
even managed a few dives at Stoney and Simpson's pool the later of which was
followed with as much food as you could eat at the Chinese for only six and a
half beer tokens. However the
highlight of the holiday must surely have been the New Years Day dive at
Blythfield. About twelve turned up
and with blazing sunshine and 20 metres viz (lie mode cancel) try as we may,
we could not resist a dive. All four
of us. They being Paul and Tim, with
Rich and myself. The rest laughed, er
sorry, watched from a safe distance.
After about ten seconds over the fifteen minutes required to qualified
for a dive, we left our watery paradise to do penance for our over indulgence
in The Goats Head at Abbots Bromley.
Although the log fire and real ale weren't necessary we made it look
as though they were. Once the holiday was over of course, many of us
would soon have to face the comparative trauma of diving The Red Sea at the
end of the month, with just a handful of jammy so and so's left behind. Only a couple of Dosthill dives separated
us from this horrific event. All to
soon the day of departure came and we were transported to our new temporary
home. How we sobbed and cried,
(incidentally, I'm writing this underneath a very robust table, in case a
bolt of lightening should strike me down).
To lift our spirits once settled in at the hotel, we headed for town
and the steak house to sample the local cuisine and drinks etc. I even tried the Egyptian coffee, which I
felt at only forty pence a slice represented good value. Before I close let me say a few words about the
diving. Certainly not what it's
crapped up to be. (Couldn't resist
that). One dive in particular was a
bunch of shite especially for "Tim 'O' Turd" who sampled the local
"Sharm Poo". He was
re-christened "Dances with Faeces" by John and described by the
Egyptian Police as Britains most unwanted man. Tim as it happens, has kindly offered to write up his account
of the adventure, but I fear he may have to clean up his act first. Final memories of the diving for me involved the
boat ride home with 22 contented divers plus Zoe and Phil scattered all over
"The President III" in blazing sunshine. It was obvious that most had shut down their data banks and
gone into silent run. Even Martin W
fell asleep. Sitting at the sharp end
of our vessel sipping a cool bottle of
"weasel wee", my thoughts drifted back to Dosthill, of Roy
and his trainees. I almost felt sorry
for them but then slipped into "smug mode". Perhaps I had better let someone else fill in the
rest as spell check is on the blink and lie mode may self-destruct anytime. Al |