Rats

This weekend we headed back to Sodwana Bay for more diving. It was a last minute decision. The plan had been for a group of us to go to Cape Vidal; this then changed to Mozambique. Logistics made both of these impossible. Feeling the power of Ringo Starr’s lyrics, we decided we most wanted to be in a little hideaway beneath the waves. So we drove back to our favourite scuba haunt, whistling tunelessly all the way.

We spent Saturday on the beach. We read, built sandcastles, and frolicked in the sea. Two things threatened my enjoyment of the waves. The first was my oversized swimming trunks with built in extra gravitational pull. Through a mix of luck and technique I managed to avoid any pornographic scenes. The second was getting ear ache from spending too much time under water. My bathing suit battles meant the Maginot Line defences in my ears were broken time again by the sea water. Combat has been raging since.

Sunday we were blessed with perfect conditions for our dive. We had 30 metre visibility, calm water and little surge. Our main concerns were that I could avoid too much ear pain and Mary could avoid vomiting. Thankfully neither of these interfered too much during our time in Ringo’s world. And by great coincidence, the first thing I saw on descending to the bottom of the ocean was an 8 legged friend. Unfortunately Mr O immediately decided to scarper. (I didn’t even get time to say, ‘How do you do? How do you do? How do you do? Etc.)

Despite the quick disappearance of the host, some of his guests decided to stay. Perhaps the most timid of these was a large potato bass. He was discovered hiding under a big rock.

When we got back to the surface I began to feel some pain in my fustilugs. Before I could alert my wife she was vomiting again. This time Mary hadn’t felt sick during the dive. It was resurfacing, that brought up breakfast. The other divers were very grateful for Mary beckoning so much sea life to the vicinity. She was encircled by hungry fish all keen on a share of the regurgitated food.

On our way back home we stopped off to buy some things for our new ‘home’ – number 130. We spent £26 buying crafts to decorate the ‘cave’ (nickname for our new abode).

We arrived at the hospital to find our kitchen flooded and water dripping steadily through a number of spots in the kitchen ceiling. The on-site plumber immediately recognised that there was a problem. After not much more time the cause was identified. We were told that, ‘The boiler is f…... It is most definitely f…… There is no doubt at all. The problem is the f…… boiler. I can tell that it is f…..’

We now have to wait for ‘a week’ for the new boiler. Previous occupants of the house told us before moving in that we would be able to hear giant rats running through our rafters at night. With a big hole in the kitchen ceiling we will now be able to assess their friendliness. Hopefully they won’t be singing to Ringo’s tune ‘We like to be under the ceiling, in Mary and Henry’s kitchen’.