I did a touristy thing yesterday and went on of these organised sightseeing boat trips. Little did I know our tour guide would be a fun-loving crazy person nor that there would be a Vietnamese ska band for entertainment. Not even could I guess that it would be a boat trip for young people of the 18-30 vibe, so everyone was basically there to get smashed- drunk and jump about in the water.
The day did not start well - I actually prepared a menatl list in answer to the question "Oi what's your bloody problem mate?" anticipating this would be a likely discourse at some point during the day, because I was feeling pretty distressed and generally antsy (the list, for reference, went "Depression, Insomnia, Intestinal Infection, Hepatic dysfunction, Alcoholism, sleep deprivation and a bad fucking attitiude. What's yours?" but thankfully I never had to deploy this less than uplifting diatribe upon anyone I had suitably pissed off, firstly because I didn't piss anyone off, and secondly because the tour guide was instantly funny, the people on the boat great company, and they broke out the beers within half an hour of leaving the dockside so all was well with the world 
The `depression` part on the list there isn't like other people's, more serious depression, by the way, it's no cry for help or sympathy, and little more than the normal unhappy thoughts we all have. But it is, as medically defined, depression, and I at least recognise that. It is intrinsically linked to the drinking, the whole cause-effect cycle has done a nasty on me, or rather, I let it do a nasty so it's just something for me to work on. And I'll shut up about it now
Boat trips around the harbour advertise a steady theme along the lines of `stop off on 4 islands, floating bar, swimming, snorkelling` but really you just all sit around on the boat and get drunk, the guide cracks wise and they serve food (very nice, can't recommend the shark though) then use the same central stage area made from the banch seating for a stage, and break out a band, where the drummer has a drumkit made of plastic water barrels, an old metal disk obviously battered flat in someone's garage somewhere, and something that served as a snare drum that was almost certainly homemade, probably from large coffee can and some piano wire.
The guitarist was 113 years old and played a fisher price sort of super-cheap beginner's electric guitar, and there was a second singer who move nothing but his mouth and vocal cords throughout the entire performance, except when pne of us (usuaally me (walked along the outside rails of the boat to get more beer and had to work their way past him to get back off the main deck and onto the outside of the boat, and it's always fun walking along that tiny ledge next to open water carrying 4 cans of beer on a boat slightly rocking and swaying.
Still, I managed to stay dry - for a while.
The thing about the band was, unbelievably, they were actually pretty good. plastic drumkit man really could play the things, albeit fairly basically, and even great-grandaddy guitarro seemed pretty good - surprisingly good in fact.
Best of all was that the tour guide - the main singer in the band too - went around the group asking which country people were from and then dragged someone up on stage to sing a song from that country.
Almost everyone was English though, or Irish, and I was with the Irish lot, drinking like there was no tomorrow and generally have a whale of it, but they got an English guy up first and our national song is, apparently, Yallow Submarine` which I could at least sing along to as I rather like it.
When it got around to the Irish, strangely, no-one was happy with getting up, so I offered to pretend I was Irish in order to get a national song for the guys I was with and, yes, I got up on stage and sung. Or rather I didn't at all because by a cruel twist of fate the one and only Iriosh song I know (The Wild Rover) wasn't on the menu, and the band began a tune that I had literally never heard before, let alone a Vietnamese Ska version therof so I sang my usual `hilarious` version to the same tune where the words go
"I - dont know - the fucking words to this song - but still - I'm fucking here - so I'll fucking swear along like this - and hope it all - ends soon - so verrry soooooon" and whether the tour guide didn't approve of my swearing, or I was just so out of tune (I did dance along as best I could given it was the first time I'd heard the song, and the first I'd heard any folk song performed by a punk band) but he managed to lead me towards the Irish guys at the end of the boat - who bloody well all DID know the words, thank you very much, and we managed to finsh by getting the microphone the hell away from me and towards someone who had a clue to what they were doing.
After a few more stops - we never visited any island at all, we just moored up near them and the beer was dispensed - and all the young guys jumping into the water I thought, well, there IS a floating bar in the water and the booze from there is free, so I thought it was time to join the waterborne young drunkies.
Finally plucking up the courage - this is the best bit - I went upt to the top of the boat, above the main deck and a good 10 feet into the water, and stripped off down to my boxers, gave my glasses to the helpful little man on the top, climbed over the safety rail and just before I jumped was told everyone was coming back in - I hesitated, I could now chicken out with justification - but I was already standing beyond the outer rail of the roof of a boat wearing nothing but underwear and a terrified grimace, so I though I may as well.
Well, I remembere that scene from the first pirates of the Caribbean film, where Johnny Depp (well, his stunt double, anyway) launches into a perfect Swan Dive, and enters the water with the utmost grace and dtyle.
I tried this.
Now a swan dive requires that your starting position puts your arms stretched straight out in a `crocifix` pose, you keep your arms as this while you yourself jump mightily forward and angle yourself towards the oncoming watery territory, and at the lat possible moment you rapidly but gracefully bring your arms together abover your head (except it's now below your head as you'r upside down hurtling towards solid water by this point) and you just enter the water as your hands have met in the safe entry position.
I miscalculated the time and distance completely, started off roughly swan-like, but basically entered the water at about 20 degrees from horizontal with my arms uselessly extended. I performed and almost perfect belly flop, and it was very funny to all on board, I am told - honestly it was funny as hell to me as I know exactly when to laugh at myself, which is most of the time, so yeah, pretty good crack as it happened.
I had a red belly, face and arms for an hour afterwards though.
I had avoided swimming prior to this because of the new tattoo and basically just drank enough not to care - being the consumate thinking drunk, however, I had prepared perfectly, and bought a big bottle of pure mineral water, washed off the tattoo thoroughly and had a good supply of `Tattoo Goo`, an antiseptic and colour preservative made for tattoo aftercare, and persuaded one of the Irish girls to smother the inkwork with it as I could not trust myself to actually get it all, what with it being on the back of my leg and all.
After that, and returning to the mainland, we all headed to a bar and the Irish stepped up their drinking as if all the previous hours of the day had been merely a kind of liquidy respiration, and after going through 4 rounds in 45 minutes I got far too drunk, made my excuses, left enough money to cover the next round as I hadn't got one yet, thanked them all for being Irish and teaching a poor Englishman the folly of trying to keep up with them (they were all very charming about it, about everything in fact) and I fell out of the pub, founf my hotel on the third try and staggered into bed for the best night's sleep I have had in two weeks.
All in all I call it something of a success - and next time I do one of these tours, I'm gonna find out the ages of the rest of the guest list, just so I can be properly prepared 
