My talent for drowning has been honed from an early age. As with any great accomplishment in life, it is important to start young. I was about six years old when I had my first go at it. Thinking back on that initial attempt, I'm pretty impressed. I hadn't thought it through at all, but I got just about everything right.
The occasion was a family picnic on the seafront at Meols, a few miles from the Wirral peninsula. Like many north-west English seaside spots - Southport, Blackpool, Morecambe - it usually lacked sea. This day was different. An unusually high spring tide had driven the picnickers off the sand and on to the promenade itself. Close to our picnic spot was a slipway, running down into the sea parallel to the front. The slipway was protected on the seaward side by a low wall a couple of feet high. A mass of screaming children were amusing themselves jumping off the wall into the shallow water on the slip. I was one of them, but not for long. I can see now that several lifelong character traits were about to assert themselves : a contrarian nature, a dislike of crowds, and an impulse to test the limits. I decided to jump off the wall and into the sea proper. Off I went.
I can still see the surface of the water as I rose up towards it : a little circle of light. I rose just the once. I can still feel the puzzlement as I sunk again, away from the light. I can still taste the salt water flowing into my lungs, closing down my life. Did that life replay itself as I floundered lower and lower ? There was nothing to replay. I did not know that I was about to die. It was puzzling, and quiet, nothing more. I can still feel the strong arm that came from nowhere and gripped me tight and pulled me up and out.
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