Stoney Cove, November 2004
Oh, I don't know why she's leaving or where she's gonna go, I guess she's got her reasons but I just don't want to know,
'Cos for twenty-four years I've been living next door to Alice.

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Saturday didn’t so much dawn as sneak guiltily across the horizon, dragging a damp, grey duvet behind it. True, there was a very slight mist in the air but nothing that we couldn’t deal with. If we survived Pants’ suicide mission on the Lucy, then a little damp certainly wasn’t going to keep us out of the water!
We had a lovely fried breakfast courtesy of Mrs. J at the Dive Inn, listening with quiet detachment to John and Greg discussing their night. John maintained that NASA had performed the last few test on it’s humongously loud ram jet in the room next door, which explained his restless night.
Greg lent towards the theory that the Chinese were finally digging through the earth’s core with huge, thundering pneumatic drills, and they were surfacing somewhere on the far side of the bunkroom. Jim and James hadn’t heard a thing and were well rested. Speaking for myself, all I heard all night long was the sound of Pants rebuilding his regs. I tell you, if anything ever goes wrong with those regs, it will be a screw popping because its thread has been worn down from the incessant rebuilding.

The water was good, viz was decent and, joy of joys, Pants and Spanker’s 5am start had resulted in them getting their cars down by the water. We geared up; Jim and James buddied up and were followed around by Nick “The Axe” Frappell in his twin set, panting like a pederast every time he walked more than five yards


Its early days, Greg's not got the hang of that whole Mask On Face thing yet..
Pants and Spanker surfaced every now and then to tell us how beautiful the viz was and promptly dropped back down into the lake to churn it up. In keeping with Pant’s unbroken record of seasickness on every dive, he dropped down onto the Stanegarth, the only boat within miles, and horked his guts up. Plus ca change.    

The remainder milled around in a general state of confusion, the whole show only being held together by a top DM.

Conditions in the lake weren’t at all bad and with a pretty decent load of students we spent far longer then expected in the water.

Of course, it helped that Aidan was doing his funky DPV thang, which was the most wildly popular spec ever; you couldn’t get the kids out of the water, not even Leaky Ross Mulder! Bless Greg, sighting his first fish, a wee perch, while his DM was trying to draw his attention to the three foot long pike that was menacing its way past. Still, what with all that bouncing along the bottom of the lake, thudding into the Nautilus and falling over the precipice it’s hardly surprising that the old geezer’s attention span was a little short. Bless him though eh.  

Did you know that the bloke who bought the Brittanic only got to dive her for the first time when he was seventy six?


Well, long story short, we cleared the lake in good time, knackered, damp and a little chilled, but thrilled to bits at an excellent day’s diving. Many thanks to Aids for bringing along those DPVs, Greg and Dean for doing their Steptoe and Son impression ALL DAY LONG, and Sally for bending over so often. Down boy, down.  
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