Battered by cod.
Despite in a previous post saying that my hobby hadn’t resulted in me being attacked by various denizens of the deep, I now realise that I’m not entirely correct in making that statement.

My dive club used to be involved with the local Aquarium in Tynemouth and various members would take it in turns to dive in the main tank (which was full of local species of fish and the public could walk through via a tunnel). Our job was to clean the inside of the tank – scrape the algae off etc, and also to put on a bit of a show for the punters by feeding the fish.

Having recently qualified, I was particularly keen to do this – it sounded like good fun, plus a chance to dive in sea water that wasn’t as murky as that Austrian bloke’s motives for keeping his daughter hostage for 24 years… Anyhow, come the Saturday and I drive off to the coast, car full of diving gear, and along with a fellow club member am given the talk by the manager of the aquarium. Come our time to immerse ourselves in the tank, we are presented with a couple of buckets of food, and a cloth. Oh, and the problem of accessing the tank, which was through a narrow doorway and up a vertical, rusty ladder designed for an anorexic. We devised a rope and pully system for getting our kit up the ladder, then kitted up on the platform at the top.

Once in the water, it was fantastic – an array of local sea life that could be seen clearly, and which were really quite friendly. Me and my mate put on a bit of a show for the punters, doing handstands and somersaults. At one point, as I was cleaning the glass, I decided to do a ‘comedy’ double take at a piece of algae that wouldn’t budge, took my regulator out of my mouth, licked my finger and then rubbed the inside of the tank in mock indignation (tip: don’t do this, I couldn’t get the taste of sea water out of my mouth for ages). Then it was time to feed the fish…

On opening our buckets of food (basically, dead fish) we found ourselves being bombarded from all sides by dogfish, ling, cod… every scaly little fucker in the tank, to be blunt. I found myself being ‘bitten’ on the head (thank god for neoprene hoods), arms, and legs (ditto for neoprene drysuits), trying desperately to distribute the food evenly, but failing miserably. Within about 45 seconds, a three litre bucket of fish scraps had disappeared, leaving me slightly dazed and my diving mask a bit wonky…
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 1 May 2008, 14:39, 1 reply)

*Click*
For taking my mind off cake for a moment.
( girlinthehole, Thu 1 May 2008, 14:44, closed)