I wasn’t going to write this, but some of the stuff was funny enough to be shared. I became an android in January (“looks look like a human on the outside but with robot-like internal mechanics”).
When I was wheeled in for the operation, one of the medical team remembered me from a previous visit and said, “oh you’re that guy who does the sea swimming”. She then calls a colleague and says, “this man swims in the sea all the time. Doesn’t your boyfriend do that?”. “Yes”, says the colleague, “he’s training for triathlons.” “Where do you go now?”, she asks me – “would you be in Myrtleville or Sandycove?”
No, I’m not making this up and I wasn’t drugged at that point – just flat on my back waiting for a new ticky bit for my heart and wondering if I was on candid camera.
“I’d be Myrtleville, really” I said, refraining from further comment in case I was going to be identified and unable to defend myself. She didn’t refrain though. “Yaaaaaay!”, she says, turning to her colleague, “Myrtleville is much more fun, they’re great crack down there and really welcoming. The Sandycove crowd are…….different, really.”
Honestly, not even I could make this stuff up.
Anyway, I knew I was in good hands (discerning, intelligent people – clearly) and they did a great job. Just one problem – I was told afterwards – you can’t swim any more. Oh. Hmm. That wasn’t great news. “Never fear”, I thought,”I’ll ring Bernie Lynch. He’ll have a plan”. I don’t know why I thought that after the hames he made of advising me about the weever fish attack the last time, but I rang him anyway.
Fair dues, he had a plan. “No swimming? Yerrah feck that. We’ll get ya flippers and a snorkel. You’ll be grand.” When you’re at a low ebb, it’s great to get some clarity and certainty. Then he started messing it up. “”Sure I remember doing laps of Sandycove when I was diving and we used to do them with flippers, no arms – nothin’ “. “C’mere”, I said, “what has laps of Sandycove got to do with it?” “Don’t worry” he says, “it’ll work in Myrtleville too”. I suppose I’d just have to trust him.
As soon as I get the all clear in March, I’m down to the beach. Arrival doesn’t go well. As I get there, Celine Hyde pulls into my space. Right in front of me. She gets out and says, “first come, first served”. There must have been an EGM while I was away and new rules dreamed up. I bet Denis Condon is behind it. Anyway, I was on a mission so I parked all the way across the road and got on with it.
Armed with Abby Lynch’s old snorkel (cleaned with Milton by Ann Lynch, I’m assured – not that I’d care) and a pair of long diving fins covered in dust and spider webs, last seen outside of the Lynch garage in the 1990s, I head for the sea. Marcus Austin is on hand to take a picture and keep an eye out. “If I go under too often, Marcus, come and get me….” The new life of the android flipper has begun.