The Yawning Ocean

I used to believe, in the past, that my mum knew everything. I think many of us go through this stage. It very is unlikely this is true and and I think there is some stage at which this does start to occur to you, and you realise that the font of all knowledge is actually someone giving you their best advice in their most convincing voice. Not the same thing at all.

The moment I really understood this, I was around 19 and on holiday. My mum had persuaded me, against my better judgment, that it would be "absolutely fine" for me to go on a day trip on a fishing boat converted to take tourists out for a days swimming. We were in Tenerife and it was glorious sunshine and what better way to spend the day (I think she had visions of me sitting in bed in a darkened room reading a book and "not getting any benefit" of the holiday she had paid for, despite me being perfectly happy to do so).

I don't travel well, I am susceptible to heat stroke and I can't swim. None of this would be a barrier to enjoyment as there would be a lovely see breeze and sandwiches. Well, I decided to go, she had paid for the holiday and I do like sandwiches.

As soon as we got on the boat, I felt iffy. I was assured I would soon get my sea legs and everything would definitely be fine. If we were luckily, dolphins would come. About half an hour out, I was definitely not fine and there were no sea legs. So much so that not only the crew, but the rest of the passengers were doing rubbish impressions of me staggering around the deck. Laughing to themselves at my obvious distress. Oh, I didn't know the language, but it was plain enough what they were doing. My mum, not really hiding her disappointment, said they might not be laughing at me. My brother had no such restraint and joined in. By this point I didn't care, I concentrated on the horizon as it made me feel a little better,

As my colour went from my customary white to a lovely sea green a bag was passed and I turned into the vomiting social pariah at the end of the boat. With the heat, the boat rocking and the constant heaving, I felt like if death came for me it would be a blessed relief. The boat stopped in a rocky cove and some of the more adventurous foreigners dropped into the water and frolicked around, and the promised sandwiches were produced. As I sat grimly staring into the distance, my hat pulled down to just above my eyes, I could see my mum approaching from the side brandishing a sandwich. "Will you not have a sandwich" she said, looking slightly concerned, then added, "it cost me £30". Hmm.. "You might as well just chuck it straight into this bag, save me the trouble of regurgitating it." I replied.

After an eternity had passed the boat headed back and I started to feel better, but not less sick. I consoled myself with the fact that there might not be long to go. As we travelled some dolphins did indeed come to the side of the boat. Still trying to jolly me along, my mum jostled my elbow "oh come on Linda, will you not look at the dolphins?" I said "If I do, I'll be sick. Take some pictures and I'll look at them when we get home". She didn't ask me again.

We did eventually get back to dock and I was weak and shaky after a day of no food or water and near continuous vomiting, but after a few glasses of lucozade, I was back on the beer again. As I was young and stupid.

The worst bit of the story, is that we went back to Tenerife the next year, and mum booked my on another boat as she had been promised it would "definitely not make anyone sick." Oh and she had brought some Rennies, so that would be ok. Needless to say, as the boat left the harbour, without a beat I picked up the sickbag and strode directly to the vomitors corner. The first thing I threw up were the 2 damn rennies.

I'm a slow learner.