The Pre-Dive Planning Stage

Sometime before the Friday night before the day you want to dive.

In an attempt to find out what in heavens name is going on during the coming weekend, do try to make contact with the Dive Organiser (probably the lone Lyme Bay Diver), who, apart from organising all your diving, in all likelihood will not answer the phone as he is out on the piss. Give it a go by all means but after hours of trying give up. Instead make a wild stab in the dark and phone someone else who might have a small inkling as to what the hell is going on in the club. OK, so they are out. Never mind, you can always phone the Old Scrotum the Dive Officer (DO) who knows everything. His answer? "Ehhh". At this point you have 2 choices, a), give up and visit your granny on Sunday for a riveting action packed time, assuming (quite correctly) that the weather will be shit anyway, Or b), keep trying on the grounds that the lone Lyme Bay Diver has to re appear at some time. Eventually one hopes you will get through to the old slap head, who will claim that he was in the bath, out working, ironing his socks, washing his dive kit? Yeah, right, I wasn't born yesterday! The lone Lyme Bay Diver will tell that it's nothing to do with him, however he might let you know who is the Dive Marshall (usually someone quite unqualified to organise a dive, let alone guarantee your safety) for the weekend and will tell you that you must phone them to book on the dive, he will also tell you not to bother him again as he has business to attend to.

Friday night before the day you want to dive 7 - 7.30 PM

If and when you eventually get through to the DM who will have been on the phone for the last 5 hours taking bookings for the weekends diving, chatting up some bird or trying to order a Chinky take-away, he will tell you that the dive is full up, blown out, the boat isn't working, there's no one to tow, no interest, etc. etc. In fact this is just a ploy to weed out those who don't really want to dive anyway (or he doesn't want to dive on his trip). Don't be put off, you can be as pig headed as he is, tell him that what ever the excuse you will be on the harbour wall at 6.00 am on Sunday morning come hell or high water, which in all probability it will be and won't be in that order. Ignore his protestations that the first dive is for roughy toughy divers only, and is on a sunken Tesco's trolley in 65 m of pea soup 20 miles off shore in a force 6 South Westerly, and anyway, the Cox for the day will never find it as he has never found a wreck in 4 years of trying. You know no one in the club is up for this type of dive and as usual it will end up being yet another 20 m scallop bash near the Baggi, so book on knowing you are quite safe. Make sure you know where and when to meet as it is another strange quirk of DM's, they change things for no apparent reason without telling anyone. It is also prudent to find out who you are diving with as an unbalanced compliment of divers is not a good thing. To your relief you will hear that you will be on the boat with some good solid divers including such fine specimens as lby, (very very very solid, trying out his new tube of water resistant Wig-O-Stick), Numpty the Perpetual Trainee (now on his 14th dive in 6years), Rancid Pasty (the only man to eat a cold pasty in a force 10 while all around him are puking their ring) and Old Scrotum  Yes, a finer example of the diving fraternity you could not hope to be out on the high seas with! Now you can go out for a few pints of Old Harry's Todger Tickler and a Wing Hong Take-A-Way Number 69, happy in the knowledge that you will be diving on Sunday in good and safe company.

Saturday night the day before the dive 7 - 7.30 PM

You MUST phone the DM to confirm that the dive is still on. After all, you have just seen the big breasted weather girl with the silly grin and a famous father on BBC1 who was pointing  (twice) at a large anti-cyclone centered over Lyme Bay, saying technical things that you don't quite understand like Southerly force 9 and rising, very heavy seas, snow, sub-zero, typhoon, dangerous to venture out, deepening sub-arctic polar maritime front with occluded depression low pressure adiabatic thermoclinal transient systems etc. etc. Normally, after yet another hour phoning, you will get the DM's little sister who says that he's unavailable at the moment 'cos he's out seeing?? her best friend, but that he left a message to say that he was sure that the dive would probably be on as the KISS FM weather for the North East didn't sound too bad, and to be on the harbour wall at 5 am on Sunday morning as this fitted the tides better. OK, fine, if he says so who are you to question his superior knowledge and judgement?

Now is the time to go and check all your dive kit for that early morning start. Make sure that you have all the usual things you need on a routine Slyme Bay dive, you know the sort of stuff, bible, distress flares, shark repellant, Paracetamol, sick bag, ale and fags, Ginster's cold pasty and ketchup, life raft, condoms. Oh yes, and don't forget the diving kit as well. Most importantly, remember that it's a dangerous world out there, all sorts of strange exotic creatures lurking that at first sight seem harmless enough, only to stab their steely claws into you, leaving you writhing in agony, felled by their venomous emissions, and that's just the wife! Just wait for the dangers that are hiding on the sea bed. Leave nothing to chance and pack anything that might be useful, Just remember the good trusty scouts proverbs 'Be prepared' and 'Is that a coin I dropped down there, Pretty Boy?'. Now go out and enjoy your Saturday evening, remember not to drink to excess, perhaps only 12 pints of Blind Bernard's Bum Burner, not the usual 14, and a Chicken Phall rather than the usual Ali's Takeaway sperm donna grease kebabs with extra chili and onion. Live this Saturday night as if it were your last (because it could well be!)

The Diving Day Arrives

6.30 am on the day that you want to go diving.

Woken by the shrill ringing of the alarm clock you promptly roll over and smash the miserable thing to pieces. What sort of hour is this anyway? And who the hell is this ugly tart next to you in the bed? 'Oh no!!' you suddenly realise through the gradually clearing haze of Fat Ferdinands Frothing Fart Water with Bacardi, Advocat and Creme de Menthe chasers, 'I was supposed to be on the Cobb over an hour ago.' Quickly you pull on any old clothes available, leap in the car, run over the cat, scatter newspaper boys every where and head for Lyme Regis. Christ, how on earth can anyone make a Skoda go so fast? You swear it passed 30 back there coming down that 1:4 hill. You Screech to a halt on the Cobb expecting to find a gang of furious divers waiting to keel haul you but . . . silence, nothing, bo diddley, sweet F A, not a diver in sight, no boat, no hair dressers car, nothing, sod all? Especially no water in the harbour! 'Surely they can't have left with out me - the bastards?' you begin to worry. Then out of a corner of your eye you see one of the others, bleary eyed fighting down one of Herbies finest bacon, egg, salmonella and grease burgers with lashings of tomato relish and mustard. Yes, everything's going to be alright, you are not the only one here waiting for the boat to arrive. Fortunately it's Polaris Pete equipped with his new mobile phone, (paid for by the EU farming subsidy for the eradication of carrot fly infestation in pig litter). Quickly you phone the lone Lyme Bay Divers stately home to find out what on earth is going on, where's the boat, divers, tide, where's anything!. According to his poor long suffering sweet wife, left all alone at home while the old fat git goes out and enjoys himself, Numpty and the others had difficulty getting the boat away from Wiggies. Having got the old sod out of the newly fitted home made jacquizzi the lads extracted the electronics from him, hitched up the trailer and lights, put the rest of the kit in the boat. But then the perpetual trainees landrover got acute wheel spin on one of the many piles of dog shit in the stately grounds and they needed Motormouths Disco' (sorry, think he drives an Audi these days!) to pull them out. Anyway, that, a pit stop for petrol, a spank mag for Numpty the perpetual trainee, a quick blow job for the tyres by our Bald Eagle (who could dive before he could walk), and they are on their way.

7.30 am

A grinding of gears and clouds of blue smoke, sparks and bits of red hot metal from the brakes heralds the arrival of Rev-A-Lot, the lads and the boat. 'Great, just on time, hope you haven't been waiting too long?' states the DM as he staggers drunkenly from the back door. Now is the moment of action for everyone. The boat has to be un-strapped, de-tail boarded, inflated, kitted, electric's installed, bunged and readied for immersion in the foul stinking quagmire called Slyme Regis Harbour. Once this preparation is over it's time to kit up yourself and get all your dive gear into the boat. Things are held up a little while the combined efforts of everyone there manage to prise the lone Lyme Bay Diver into his newly commissioned Goodyear Blimp - sorry, drysuit. Another pause in proceedings while you get him out again cos nature calls, and then further struggles while he tries to get back in for a second time.  More delays while Rancid Pasty visit Herbies for a quick mega supreme runny egg and botulism sandwich. Eventually you are all ready, Rev-A -Lot slowly reverses the boat back down the slipway and out across the black oozing expanse of the harbour. All goes well but then the mighty four wheel drive hairdressers car comes up against a stranded jellyfish quivering its last in the mud. Quickly Rev-A-Lot slams it into 4x4 high ratio diff lock but to no avail. It's just too much for the poor vehicle, which promptly bogs itself into the stinking ooze and stalls. 'Unhitch and push' goes out the cry. At this season divers know that it is time to suddenly remember that they haven't put a parking ticket in their window and vanish before you can say 'S#%T this boat is heavy'. However if you are lucky the tide will now be coming in (it could be doing anything because for sure the DM doesn't know!) This is essential as by now the jockey wheel will either be a) stuck in a pot hole or b) broken off and the boat will be stranded on it's trailer neither in nor out of the water. After much grunting and groaning smoothly the boat crashes off the back of the trailer into the now fast flooding waters and everyone breaths a sigh of relief . All that has to be done now is to pull the trailer back out of the harbour past the half submersed landrover and hope that someone can start the boat engine which had a full and complete service only last week by the local marine engineers so it's bound to be OK.

8.30

Still no luck with the engine. You thought that it gave a cough but no, it was just a trainee doing his thing again over the transom. After nearly an hour of trying it is suggested that perhaps connecting the fuel line might be a help, but by now the battery is flat. It's time to get the cord out and pull start the bugger. Obviously this is a very demanding and strenuous job and so lots are drawn which means the perpetual trainee looses.

9.00

Bored of watching Numpty sweat, grunt and wheeze, someone else has a go and hey presto, the engine bursts into life, or at least 2 cylinders do. Amid clouds of blue smoke the boat is steered out of the harbour mouth and into the maelstrom of Lyme Bay. The Cox sets the GPS which tells him that today's accuracy thanks to the Yanks is down to plus or minus 3 miles and heads off in a direction he guesses is about right but could take you anywhere. As you pass the end of the Southern wall there is a mighty bang and even more blue smoke back at the blunt end and the two surviving cylinders project shards hot steel through the cowling. Looks like another job for Messrs. Perry Marine Engineers! It is decided that under the circumstances, maybe it would be prudent to cancel the dive. Despite the bitter disappointment felt by everyone, you all gang together to paddle the boat back into harbour, mooring up on a thin twangy bit of wire, reminiscent of a car ariel sticking out of the water in the middle of the harbour.

9.30

Amid much heated discussion, swearing and violence, it is decided to get the boat out of the water again and go home, your diving day well and truly done for. But where is Numpty and the Landrover? That's just typical of him, never there when he's wanted! Instead Polaris offers to go and get his trusty Landrover (paid for by the EU subsidy for the prevention of fuzzy blight in olive groves) while Tangle sorts out his favourite shot line for towing the boat out of the water. Rancid Pasty high tails it to Herbies for a super double cheese and listeria berger with marmalade topping as he is feeling a bit peckish now. Wiggy the lone lone Lyme Bay Diver goes for a slash and Numpty the Perpetual Trainee has just realised that he's forgotten his regulators and can't dive after all and has sulked off. Looks like it's all up to you to get the boat out of the water, un-kitted, strapped down, tail boarded, emptied of water, re-fueled, washed down, electronics safely removed, and the whole thing towed back to the lone Lyme Bay Diver's hovel. Doesn't it make you feel good to know that you are now truly an integral part of the club!

 

The End

So anyway, that was a fairly realistic picture af a typical diving day in and around Slyme Bay with the club.

Do you fancy a diving day with this bunch of loosers? If not stay with us and continue delving into the pits of club diving and revel in the delights of their other persuits. Click on the sections below to find out more.