Tuesday, July 19, 2005

18/07/05 Return To Stalag 13 (or "Jim Goes Back To Work")

Tying my tie (with the accompanying uncomfortable restriction of respiratory function), is the defining symbolic event encapsulating the cold, painful reality of going back to work.
I had a shit sleep as I was too preoccupied with having to desert my scratcher at the ungodly hour of 8am.
God had obviously tried to stop me returning to work as he had organised a Lothian Regional Transport bus strike to coincide with my reunion with the racing rats.
I took the opportunity to cycle to work. It was all downhill from there, both literally and metaphorically.
My boss knew who I was on account of my legendary exploits in the company "Sailing Club" 6 years ago.
The incident in question occurred at Largs Marina.
I'm not much of a sailor per se, but I signed up for a weekend of tootling round the Clyde in a 6 person berth sailing boat.
The plan was to meet in Largs Marina Bar on the Friday, have a few drinks (alert alert danger!), then spend the night on the boat, sailing away early in the morning, docking in Lamlash Bay on the Saturday night, then returning on the Sunday.
This was in November, I hasten to add.
Having had a number of pints of 80 shilling I followed the captain towards the boat. I was fully laden with a weighty rucksack and also carried a crate of 24 bottles of Becks for weekend consumption.
We stepped out onto the jetty in the darkness and walked along till we came alongside our boat. Then he turned right up a little jetty alongside the boat.
It was attached by brackets to the main jetty.
My first step was on the bracket, which unbeknownst to me narrowed towards the main walkway.
My next step was into fresh air and before I could react or even shout "Fuck!", I was 20 feet underwater carring a crate of beer with a rucksack on.
I quickly took the painful decision to let go of the beer and then began my struggle for survival. I managed to thrash my way to the surface, whereby the captain grabbed my arms and pulled me up to safety. (The beer is probably still there, if there are any treasure hunters amongst you).
I was quite relaxed about the whole thing at the time. However, dwelling on what might have happened if I'd hit my head off the side of the boat as I fell etc etc managed to freak me out slightly, later on.
I had the piss taken out of me by everyone else for the whole weekend.
But I had the last laugh, as all the other novice sailors were very, very ill with sea sickness on the Sunday...and I was fine. Ha Ha.
So that story has been circulating in the "Sailing Club" for 6 years now!
I suppose it's good to leave a legacy of achievement behind me.
Ah well, first day of work...not too bad really...
The time will soon pass, Papillon...

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