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I was swimming in the Red Sea once with a friend (and she's a right old slapper) when we got caught in a nasty, nasty riptide. By dint of Thorpedo-like effort, I managed not to be dragged too far out and when I was out of puff, managed to balance precariously on pinnacles of coral at intervals until shore began to seem a bit closer.
However, my friend wasn't quite such a good swimmer and was drifting off. So I had to go get her and do some heroic stuff. Unfortunately, she's a big lass and was not being terribly helpful, as panic set in. So she started haranguing me and getting right up my nose, just as I was calculating that I was struggling to make headway without my friend to tug along behind.
I had this awful image of being in the impossible decision of having to choose between letting her drift off and save myself, or both of us drifting out beyond a chance of powering ourselves back to shore. I found some herculean reserves and got us both safely back to the beach but the memory of that flash of just having to let her drift chills me still.
Good job this was 1990 and I was younger and fitter. We'd both be fish food if it happened today. I remind her that I saved her life every now and then when I'm feeling a bit evil. We don't mention the possibility that I might have panicked too and made a hasty and fatal decision. |
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