Portugal's not safe for kids
When I was just a little Daikoku, aged 5, our family went on holiday to Portugal. It was our first trip abroad and came within seconds of being my last.

We were staying in a big hotel complex of around 10 floors on the beachfront somewhere on the Algarve. The place had an indoor pool in the basement that led out onto a terrace overlooking the beach. I'd pestered my dad to take me and my brother down to play in the pool straight after breakfast, so he was getting our things together (towels, books etc) for him and Mum to read while me and my little brother splashed about.

We'd been to the pool a few times that holiday so when his back was turned to load the last of the stuff into the beach bag, I challenged my brother to a race. We flew out of the door, and started flying down the concrete stairwells towards the pool. The race was a simple challenge - get to the jacuzzi bit at the far end of the pool by the beach first. Now, being the bigger brother, I thought I could gain yet another slight advantage. Instead of running all the way round the pool, I'd leap as far in as I could over the deep end, then stagger the last few metres through the shallows to claim my place in the pantheon of victors until the next competition could be thought up.

By the time I'd reached the basement, my brother was left for dust. Victory was mine! I leaped, graceful as a salmon into the deep blue waters. I even remember cartwheeling my legs for those extra few inches of distance. I hit the water hard, and it knocked the air out of my lungs. I couldn't breathe, couldn't see a thing; I didn't even know which way was up, I was so confused and terrified. This was it, I thought. I think it was the first time in my life I'd felt proper panic.

Knowing my penchant for finding trouble at the drop of a hat, it was at this point I imagine that my father turned around in our apartment to the open door he'd just been addressing and realised that there might be a problem. Where was Daikoku? And exactly how quickly can you descend 10 flights of stairs just months after an operation to remove your cruciate ligament?

He found me splashing and flailing, just about still afloat, and pulled me to the side to catch my breath which I remember coming in big ragged lungfuls after enduring mouthfuls of chlorinated water. He said I'd actually slipped under as he jumped down the last few steps and saw the whole horrible scene in front of him.

Queue a massive bollocking about never going swimming alone again etc etc I don't remember seeing bright lights as consciousness slipped away, but I do remember getting an ice cream (as a reward for not dying presumably).

Length? Substantially further to the shallow end than I thought.
( daikoku has been on a ragga tip since, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 18:30, 1 reply)

Dads
Where'd we be without'em, eh?
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sat 21 Aug 2010, 19:01, closed)