A Dude With A Shrub On His Head

I continue to attempt to move home. "Attempt" because I secretly have no clue how to do this properly, and am just making it up as I go along, in the hope that I will soon be in one place, with all my possessions, and with the lights, gas and electric all working.

Until then, when I may have time to write something, here's a picture of a man with a shrub on his head.

If Sherlock Holmes could have seen Newcastle City Centre, he would have congratulated himself on the accuracy of his observation that truth is always, always, stranger than anything you can make up (or words to that effect).

The Olympic Spirit

And here is the article I talked about last week. In other news, I own a flat. Still working on the "Home of CyclingDiver" sign to go beside the door!

Now that the Games have finished, what memories are we left with? Undoubtedly, we have seen some truly incredible feats of athleticism. No-one who saw Usain Bolt winning any of his three gold medals will forget the sight. As my best friend said to her young son before the 100m final: “You need to be looking at the television right now, and don’t blink or you’ll miss it!”. And you could say the same of Mo Farrah’s astonishing double gold in the 10,000m and 5000m races, Jessica Ennis’s victory in the women’s heptathlon, or Bradley Wiggins’ winning both the Tour de France and an Olympic time trial gold in the space of a few weeks? 

All physical feats that most human beings could never hope to match, yet perhaps what appeals most to us are the human stories behind each triumph. Experts in the field of cycling will no doubt rave over Bradley Wiggins’ remarkable achievement, but who among us, regardless of how ignorant we are of cycling, could fail to be moved by the fact that his first action, on learning he’d won the gold, was to get back onto his bike and go in search of his wife and children? Or any of the following moments:

• Gemma Gibbons’ reaction to winning the silver medal in the women’s 78kg class judo, tearfully mouthing “I love you, Mum”, in memory of her dead mother.  
• Mo Farrah, a Somalia-born immigrant to the UK, being cheered onto two gold medals by the British public before the eyes of the world. 
• Kathie Copeland’s incredulous comment to her rowing partner Sophie Hosking on winning the women’s lightweight double sculls: “We’re going to be on a stamp!” 
• Andy Murray defeating Roger Federer to win the gold at the same place where he had lost the Wimbledon final to Federer four weeks ago, sprinting to the player’s box to celebrate with his friends and family after defeating Roger Federer – then reaching out to hug a young fan.

These stories (and the many, many more that could be added to them after the last two weeks) are not unique to these Games. Earlier games too saw human beings transcend nationality and even race to offer each other a hand of friendship and support. Most people have seen the “Black Power” salute at the 1968 Mexico City Olympics, performed by John Carlos and Tommie Smith, but how many know that the gloves they were wearing actually belonged to Peter Norman, the third athlete on the podium? Norman, a supporter of civil rights (he is wearing a civil rights badge in the photograph), saw that they had forgotten their gloves. He approached and offered them his gloves to wear. (38 years later, Carlos and Smith were pallbearers at Norman’s funeral.) 

One final story, this one from the famous, or perhaps notorious, 1936 Berlin Olympics. Most of us have heard of Jesse Owens, the famous African-American athlete whose four gold medals, won in front of the Nazi regime, demonstrated the hollowness of the racist Nazi ideology. Fewer have heard of Luz Long, the German athlete and national hero who competed with Owen in the long jump. 

During the competition, Long noticed that Owen was struggling during the qualifying rounds for the long jump. He walked across and suggested that Owen try an adjustment to his technique. Owen took his advice, and went on to win the gold medal in the event – at which point he and Long embraced and walked arm-in-arm to the dressing room, posing for photos together. 

Owen said afterwards: “You can melt down all the medals and cups I have and they wouldn't be a plating on the 24-carat friendship I felt for Luz Long at that moment. Hitler must have gone crazy watching us embrace."

Still Writing My Post

I've been spending the week trying to write a post about "The Olympic Spirit", which is actually an article I want to put in my church newsletter. This has been somewhat held up by office moves, house moves (I hope - haven't yet exchanged contracts!), and my in retrospect poor decision to slug five glasses of wine last night in Perdu. Actually, I don't regret that last one. Screw it!

To hold you between now and then, here's a picture of an unexploded WWII bomb under the water, which I saw in Crete. More actual writing coming soon.

Vertical Ships, Idiot Bartenders, and McBob (Oban Diving) – Digression

And we rose early in the morning, and hopped into J’s Jaguar to head on down to Oban Harbour, and load all of our gear onto our floating base for the day, the Peregrine. This is one way in which diving in Britain differs from diving overseas, at least in my experience. Just about all types of diving involve early starts, but diving in Britain usually involves hauling a lot more heavy gear about, due to a) absence of paid friendly divemasters to do it for you, and b) diving in Britain requires a lot more stuff. It’s no wonder I’ve started lifting heavier weights at the gym. 

Interestingly enough, I recently realised that perhaps part of the reason why of all the hobbies I’ve tried – martial arts and archery included – diving is the one that’s stuck; it plays to my physical strengths. Partly, it’s just that I love the water. I literally cannot remember a time I couldn’t swim, as I was first taken to a swimming pool by my dad before I was one year old – my conscious memory doesn’t get back far enough! 

Curiously enough, you don’t actually have to be a great swimmer to be a diver*, although it certainly helps. Most divers don’t need to master anything other than the basic flutter kick, which is the same one used in front crawl, and the fins do the rest. (It’s different for techie divers, who need to have very precise fin strokes to avoid stirring up silt in caves and wrecks.) You do, however, need to be confident being in water, and swimming certainly helps. Bobbing around in the middle of the North Sea in three-foot waves waiting for the boat to find you and pick you up really isn’t the right time to be at all nervous about being in deep water. 

Getting back to my point, the one thing I physically lack is speed. I can run. I just can’t run fast. This is affectionally known in my family as the “Curse of the CylingDiverClan”**. None of us have any acceleration, although quite a few of us have done half-marathons and fun runs. Alas, nearly all school sports require the ability to run really fast, and hence my school sports career was best described as undistinguished. I can, however, hit my stride and stay in it for some time. 

Since diving requires you to actively avoid doing things fast – it wastes energy and leads to inefficient breathing – but does require continous exertion over a period of around 40 minutes, it’s perfect for me. My fondness for lifting large lumps of metal helps out too. Being able to squat-thrust 30kg in the gym is great preparation for standing up with 13kg of lead strapped around you, and a 12litre tank of steel and compressed air on your back adding another 15kg to play with. 

Standing up with all of that on you on a boat is an interesting experience, and one I was about to have. More details on that, and the afore-mentioned McBob, next week!


* This is one of the Big Three questions I get asked when people learn I go diving. The other two, which nearly always follow when people learn I go diving in Britain, are:

“Don’t you get cold?” Polite answer: “No, not if you’re wearing the right type of suit to go diving in.” Honest answer: “Would you enjoy being cold for half an hour? Do you think I’d enjoy being cold for half an hour every weekend when I could be doing something else? Ergo, do you think I get cold?”

“Can you see anything?” Polite answer: “Yes, it’s possible to see quite a lot. We can get up to 10m visibility, and there are lots of starfish, crabs, fish and anemones to look at, plus the seals and the wrecked ships.” Honest answer: “No, I love spending half an hour swimming around in the murk looking at nothing.” Though, to be fair, that’s a good description of one or two dives I’ve had at Beadnell Bay, and don’t get me started on Lake Ellerton.


I know, I’m irritable. I used to get deeply irritated when I did martial arts and people would say to me, on learning that this was my hobby: “Ooh, I won’t disagree with you then!” I used to want to reply: “What, you seriously think I’m so violent I’d hit you if you disagreed with me?” I guess one of the great lessons of life I’ve had to learn in the past thirty-odd years is People Like To Make Obvious Comments, and nobody ever, ever, thinks if you might have heard the same thing before and be fed up with answering it.



** No, that is not our real surname. Though it would be pretty awesome if it were.