Why "Tombstoning" is a Bad Idea...

The act of "Tombstoning" isn't a new craze to me. I've been doing it for years, under the less scary name of "dooking" or "jumping". This is because I live in the North-East of Scotland, and I'm within a stone's throw of 4 beaches, two harbours, and lots and lots of water!

Anyway, for years, I've been a more-than-willing participant in this "dangerous, deadly, stupid, crazy" sport, and have never come to any real harm except for almost drowning a few times, and various scrapes and bruises. Today, however, disaster finally struck in my family.

Jamie, Barrie and myself were at the harbour, dookin', and all was going well. For two hours at least, we jumped, dived, somersaulted, and swam all over, without any real problems except the chilly cold of the North Sea, haha. Basically, between three of us, the only problem was 6 blue tits, standing to attention.

However, Jamie decided that he was cold, and that he had to go back to the car to get his phone. "I'm nae gonna bother gaun' back in the watter, eh?", he claimed. But, five minutes later, he decided he had to do one last jump, from the top of the pier, and I was to take a video using his phone.

So, he ran, jumped, Barrie screamed "WHOOOOAHHH!!!", Jamie splashed, then swam back to the ladder, at which point Barrie thought it a good idea to ask.. "Is the key for the car door and immobiliser still in your pocket?".

Unfortunately, it wasn't. So now, we have to figure out how to get Barrie's car back home, without the immobiliser key

So, thanks to Jamie, "TOMBSTONING" has cost us some dignity.

The Human Kettle

Years ago, when my mother was rather-well affiliated with a local charity, a lovely day waterskiing was arranged at the nearby Findhorn Bay. It was the middle of summer, and a rather lovely day. The sun was shining, the water was calm, and the boat was revving loudly as it took each of us behind it, pulling as at what one can only imagine at that age is a million knots.

It felt like lightspeed.

However, I must confess: I was suffering as big an affliction as they come [an affliction which I still suffer] - Shortness. Yes, I, your humble writer, am a ShortArse. This is highly evident when I am placed beside any or all of my family members, whom all tower above the skies at 6ft +. Even my dogs are taller than me, quite frankly.

Alas, back to the story.

After my ill-fated attempt to actually try and waterski, completely regardless of my small frame and even smaller feet - which of course led to approximately three failed attempts to waterski, which then led to the mention of the dreaded "Biscuit." - which I was forced to sit in, behind the boat, and not enjoy myself and be as showy-offy as I normally would have been. Rather a dampened mood I suffered. However, looking back, I am glad I got to sit in the Biscuit - It meant I could relax and take in my surroundings, and view the Seals, which lazily lay in the sun on an isolated patch of land in the water. A sort of "Seal island", if you will.

After my turn was over, my little brother - whom at this time was still shorter than me - had a go. Sitting in the biscuit, with a happy-go-lucky smile on his face, and an air of contentment, he set off on what was to become the most harowing journey of his life. The boat accelrerated. 10, 15, 20, one million Knots. No danger, just fun. Then the boat turned the corner, and took him on a Journey past Seal Island. He looked over at the seals, and smiled. "Aw, cute. Seals.", thought He. Not for long.

Once they spotted him; a young boy in a very fragile-looking inflatable donut... They decided to attack. Diving into the water like synchronised swimmers set to Kill, they embarked on a speedy chase after him. Their fangs glistened with the blood of young, and they looked hungry for more. Famished for Children, one might say.

Upon seeing the Killer seals with evilbadscary teeth coming hurtling towards him at a hundred and fifty metres per second, he screamed. I say screamed... It was more like a squeal. A high pitched squeal that only a child with a broken soul and absolute fear instilled in him can squeal. And squeal, he did. Terrified for his life, he was.
Watching him squeal was so mesmerising: he did not seem to take in or expel breath. He simply..circulated air in through his nostrils, and straight out through his mouth, and an alamring rate. Much like a kettle left on the stove too long. Much like a referee's whistle... He was calling time.


The boat, with it's engines roaring loudly, carried on regardless, until an eagle-eyed mother [ours] spotted the water streaming down his face. Far too salty for seawater, it was. He was crying.

To this day, Aaron still cannot look at the sea.