Mike's Most Embarrassing Moment...........So Far.

Simon, Mark and I were working the holiday in a hotel in Bournemouth. During a summer break that seemed to last for ever, we were enjoying our first taste of adulthood, and of having the money to enjoy ourselves in every moment when we weren't working or sleeping.

Soon after we'd arrived for our first day at work, Max, the crazy Polish chef, sent me to get some supplies from the garage. Garage was an understatement - it was a huge building attached to the hotel, with the rear part shelved and stacked with dry goods for the kitchens. But at the front, on a trailer, sat a gorgeous 16 foot speedboat finished in bright yellow, with cream bucket seats. A Johnson Stinger outboard hung from the stern, and a set of skis, including a mono, lay on the floor. Max's shout dragged me from my drooling reverie, and as we walked back to the kitchen he told me that the boat belonged to the boss.

Later that evening I tackled the boss about it. It turned out he'd bought it because he felt as a hotel owner in Bournemouth he really should have one. But his wife got seasick just looking at it, and after hauling it into the water twice on his own, he parked it and forgot it.

"It's a shame really, it should get used. I don't suppose you fancy taking it our from time to time while you're here?"

And so began my enduring love affair with boats. We had it in the water at every opportunity that summer. We taught ourselves to ski, and then mono ski, and we moved on to some fabulous tricks. Simon was the best of us, and a few years later he famously water skied behind the ship's helicopter en route to The Falkland Islands. He made it home. Sadly the helicopter, too many colleagues, and the ship, HMS Coventry, did not.

But back to the story. It was another wonderful day - mid summer, and Bournemouth beach was packed full of people. We'd been skiing, jumping and showing off for an hour or two, a little way off shore. We knew the tourists (or "grockles" as we called them) were enjoying the show.

It was time to take a break and get a drink, so I motored in slowly.

You have to picture the scene - three young, fit guys, wearing the coolest shades and surf shorts. The menacing prow of the expensive machine nosing in while the powerful motor throbs gently. I was acutely aware of thousands of eyes on us, and conscious to avoid the swimmers in the water all around.

Just as we reached the surf line, I told the guys to swim ashore and that I'd deal with the anchor. There was quite a current running, and small boats are always hard to anchor on a sandy sea bed. Nothing would be more embarrassing than having to abandon our coffee and swim after a boat that hadn't been secured properly and was drifting in a 1 knot current.

I went over the side with the anchor in hand, laid it on the sea bed, and started digging. I'd created a big enough hole to bury it safely, but I needed some more air before I could finish the job by placing the anchor in my hole, and covering it over. I headed to the surface, exhaled and then inhaled in a split second and went back to work. Subconsciously I'd been aware, in the moment I spent on the surface, of people on the beach shouting and gesticulating, and I wondered what had been going on.

I dug the anchor in, and covered it with plenty of sand - I knew the boat wasn't going anywhere. Just at the point where my lungs were about to burst, I kicked off the bottom and exploded to the surface!

Thousands of people on the beach were standing up and shouting, others were laughing, and there was a gentle jeering noise coming from a large group of guys. I stuck my head back into the water to make sure the anchor hadn't moved already, but I could clearly see it was still firmly buried. I looked at the people on the beach again, and they were pointing behind me.

I turned in the water. The boat was 30 meters away running with the current, and the top of the anchor rope drifted uselessly where it hadn't been attached anywhere.

And then it got worse. In my panic and confusion, logic deserted me. Instead of swimming for the boat and motoring it back to the anchor rope, I decided to take the anchor to the boat! So I dived down, scooped the sand off it, and then proceeded to chase the boat whilst carrying a ten kilo anchor! By this time, I was the best show on the beach, and there must have been three thousand people cheering and clapping me.

That was thirty years ago. And even now, just typing this brings me out in a cold sweat of embarrassment.

I'm telling the story for no reason other than it's quite entertaining, and I don't want to spoil it by adding a pathetically thin link to a blogging lesson from it.

But there's probably a message for you somewhere in there. Feel free to share it.