Paul Gallaher's Memories

By Paul Gallaher
15th August 1998 - 29th August 1998

We were on a family holiday in Portinax Ibiza. Me and a holiday buddy who I met there approached the holiday rep, she had her head stuck in a magazine:
“Can the guests borrow the canoes?”
“It’s against hotel regulations to lend out the canoes unsupervised, you could be washed out to sea and die”. She looked up, I could swear her eyes rolled a little, she must have recognised us from the night before. Must have been a good night, I remember fuck all.
“You want one each?” she asked, unsmiling
“Yes please”

The day before we had been Scuba diving, today canoeing in the sea, I was feeling a bit Bondesque. Okay I can’t actually remember Jimmy Bond wearing a canoe on his head and hopping across hot sand, but Bondesque none the less.

“The secret of cool, is to make it look like you do this sort of thing everyday”. This from my learned friend. His shoulders were red raw and peeling, he was sporting a pair of floral swimming shorts.
“Yesh.” (my best Connery) “Is the long pointy bit the front?”

I surveyed the sea in what I considered looked a professional manner. In the distance I could see a lone swimmer, probably trying to escape all the hustle and bustle of screaming kids and idiots. I was allowed to call people idiots, I was in character.

We were mounted up (Do you mount canoes?) and on our way. It surprised me just how easy it was - I was cutting through the water at quite a pace, however I appeared to be closing on the lone swimmer. Give it more on the right and I would turn away. I got my head down and put some power onto the right side, the boat gathered pace and got even closer to what I could now see was a middle aged woman.

This can’t be right; I am putting all my efforts to one side, surely the canoe should turn? More power, more pace, turn ya bastard, turn. I could now see the woman was doing the breast stroke, probably enjoying the peace and tranquillity and totally oblivious to approaching imminent death. More power, faster, faster, pleeeease fucking turn.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t I just stick my paddle in the water, and brake? What you have to understand is that the pointy bit on my canoe was locked on that woman’s head like a guided missile and it was going to skewer her just to make me look bad. I was having none of it, I was bracing myself for my last effort, I would win this battle of wits: the fucking thing’s just fibre glass for Gods’ sake.

I put my head down, and went for it. Have you ever seen those speed boats? The ones where their front ends stick out of the water? Well that was my canoe! I’m sure I was now up to about 100 knots, young dudes were surfing in my wake, there was tidal wave on mainland Spain that day. I gave it every ounce of energy. I had it beat, bit more, paddle in, paddle in, paddle in. I looked up, I felt sick, I was only feet from murder.

What would Mr Bond do? I looked at my watch, Fuck! It’s a Casio. I dropped my paddle in the water put my hands to my head, and screamed in my most apologetic voice
“Look out!”

The poor woman turned, caught the front of the canoe in her cupped hands and was dragged under water for what seemed like an eternity, until the boat came to a halt. She surfaced spitting salt water. Thank God!

I apologised profusely, she was a nice lady she accepted my apologies with a smile (or was it a grimace?) She pushed my canoe away, I had no paddle and it turned freely. I caught sight of my friend who was slumped in hysterics, the bastard. The canoe did 180 degree turn and smacked the poor swimmer on the back of the head.

Poor woman - it just was not her day.

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Tags: bond canoe swimmer ibiza idiot fun

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