Burly man-hugging and other adventures

So...it's Monday morning. I'm in the arse end of Blackpool and I'm bobbing up and down in a swimming pool with my legs wrapped around the waist of a burly rigger called Louis. I avoid eye contact as much as possible. The lights above us suddenly take on whole new meaning and inspire deep fascination. For a split second I wonder if now's the time to give him a cheeky wink. What exactly would happen? I forsee a quick and painful drowning. I give that option a miss. So we float and listen attentatively to the instructor.

"Now - that's how you conserve body heat and keep yourself alive. If there are more of you - form a group huddle. Lock arms and huddle close."

Weirdly - it's quite relaxing. Life-jacket inflated hard against my body and pressing up against my face - I finally realise what it must be like to get a hug from Dolly Parton. It's not bad.

We splash about for a bit and practice rescue techniques - we swap partners and I get a diver. How good is that?! He's like flipper on steroids and drags my attempt at being an unconscious dead mass across the pool in seconds. When it's time for me to rescue him - holy crap - I feel inadequate. I paddle backwards - arms flailing like a wounded Walrus. Eventually - after many hours in the bermuda circle that is "the bit of the pool in the middle" - eventually we make it to the other side.

"Sorry about that..." I apologise.

"What you need to do is co-ordinate your strokes. Make them bigger. Big strokes - more power."

I am in awe of this man. He battles North Sea currents and certain death against jagged jacket legs of ageing platforms - he is a man made of steel and of the sea. I am a man made of jelly and cheap wine.

After a while we jump in a raft and they winch us up to the 10metre dive board. The wire looks decidedly thin. I wait til the fat man in front of me has gone up.

"Good. If it can take him. It can take me..." I think. Same as everyone else on that raft. Except...except...what if he just exposed an inherent weakness in the winch. A fatigue in the system. Think of that chlorine...day in...day out...corroding...corrupting...that b*stard element chlorine. I curse your chlorine-like properties. I wonder briefly about bromine and why that's not used in pools. And then it's clear why I never did A-Level Chemistry.

Then it's the HUET dunk. Into the cage - a vague replica of a chopper. And the whirring of winch once more as half a tonne of metal lumbers above the pool. Dripping like some sort of metallic beast monster that's just swallowed 4 blokes whole.

So this is how it feels to be Jonah. Well - it's not all bad. I get a rebreather. Which is basically like your own personal air tank. Now - just remember. The pilot's just announced you're about to crash "brace brace brace!" so - just before you bend over to kiss your sorry *rse goodbye - don't forget to delpoy your rebreather.

We tumble upside down, I stick the mouthpiece in my puckered lips, pop a valve and start to breath under the water. Coooooool....this is really cooooool. How good is this?! I'm breathing underwater using my own air - dumped into a plastic bag with my last breath before I go under.

What a great invention. I dig it. I really dig it. Of course - will I remember to follow any of that in a real situation? Maybe. Now was it valve popped in and breath? or valve popped out and breath? Oh Crap...

And then it's out of the pool and into the fire - well - firefighting. I could do with warming up. It's minus one outside after all. But noooo....it's all gone a little bit PC. Fire is now just a little bit too dangerous to wander around in the dark rescuing people. So - we get disco smoke instead. Nevertheless - I enjoy breathing through my smokehood and practicing my Darth Vader impressions. My sons would be proud.

We put out a few fires. I particularly enjoy the Foam extinguisher - messy. Coool. And then we witness the full-on effects of a chip pan fire coming into contact with a pint of water. Wow. It's like being in the film Backdraft. Even the fireman looks a little taken aback. Somehow we get a double explosion as the gas vapour in the room also reignites and flashes a roll of thunderous flame and destruction across the ceiling and over our heads. Fire. I know it's dangerous but be honest - it certainly pulls hard at the pyromaniac in all of us!

Finally it's back to the classroom for first aid and CPR. (Not us - Annie the CPR dummy).

A Bolton lad - hard as nails - shaven headed - deadpan - points at the dummy and says to the medic teaching us....

"CPR's the last of her worries - she ain't got no f*ckin' legs or arms!"

He has the room in stitches. It's a good point. We save Annie a few times and then it's time to go home.

Home. I fling open the door and attempt to dazzle the kids with my wild tales of crazy rescue attempts and daring do. I impress my three year old with tale of great fireballs and danger...of thunder and lightning and such like (somehow - even with all the genuine daring of the day - I feel need to embellish just to impress him).

He stares at me, clambers to the top of the couch and non plussed says..."Yes Daddy....and I'm Fireman Sam and I jump off couches!". And off he jumps. I guess nothing can compete with that. I smile and we dance (baby on my shoulders) on the couch to Herp Albert for ten minutes before bedtime. A nice calming bedtime routine....

Goodnight.