DAY 361: Riding a jet ski

27 Aug

Death Cheata.

I’VE come to Queensland’s Hervey Bay for hols, and ol’ larrikin Larry of the local watersports joint has taken me under his wing. (“He reckons he’s mayor of Hervey Bay,” someone grumbles to me later.)

First off, he gets me a jet ski, chucks in some free kayaking, and suggests a spot of free falling.

“Bear Grylls broke his back in three places free falling,” I lisp.

“I’ve broken my back in four places,” he immediately scoffs, leaning jauntily on the desk. “I did it when I was running prisons. Anyone can do it. The point is, you probably won’t.”

Once out on the jet ski, I relive all my childhood A*Team fantasies. I am escaping from a baddie. No. I am chasing a baddie. At the top permitted speed of 30 knots I’m unlikely to catch the baddie, but I do discover that accelerating swiftly from 0 to 30 knots over and over is good fun.

After half an hour I return the jet ski to Larry, who shouts me a latte and settles in to tell me about his time in the rodeos.

Keeper? Yes.

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