I am not a naturally sporty, outdoorsy person, and now I know why – it’s because I’m not someone who looks good in action photos. This was brought home to me quite brutally when I went swimming with sea turtles in Hawaii. There was a professional photographer on the trip, and every single photo makes me look like an escaped lunatic, desperately trying to snorkel her way to freedom.
Part of the problem was that I was just too buoyant. The photographer had her camera underwater and kept telling me to dive down deeper, but I just couldn’t do it – I kept bobbing straight back up again. A second problem was my hair, which wasn’t long enough to be held back by the mask strap and insisted on streaming across my face, obscuring my view and adding to the general impression of insanity. Ophelia I was not: I looked more like Magwitch, had he ever decided to take up snorkelling.
But, putting my vanity aside, the sea turtles were fabulous. They swam around, unbothered by the splashing tourists, popping up to the surface for a quick breath every so often and gliding around elegantly under the water the rest of the time – there was no hair getting in their eyes and making them look deranged.
We saw a baby turtle, which turned out to be twenty years old. They can live for up to a hundred years, and all have their favourite spot on the sea bed where they hang out, so the boat captains know exactly where to find them.
There were also thousands of brightly-coloured fish, and starfish which looked completely different to the usual five-fingered varieties. I wouldn’t have realised they were living creatures; they looked more like five-sided cushions covered in a rough fabric. Our dive leader was an expert in spotting them on the seabed.
The captain of our boat gave very explicit instructions about where to vomit, if you felt the need – and the answer was essentially anywhere except on his boat. And once the idea is in your head, it’s difficult to get rid of it. So when all the bobbing around in the waves looking at the turtles made me feel slightly nauseous, I was anxious about getting back on board. What if I disgraced myself and was thrown overboard for breaking the only rule the captain gave us? On the other hand, I could hardly stay where I was, treading water somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. US lawyers would salivate at the thought of all the litigation after reading the newspaper headline Queasy Pensioner left to drown by Neatfreak Captain, but I wouldn’t be around to enjoy the payout. So I clambered back on board and hoped for the best as we chugged our way back to the harbour.
With so many perils attached to life in the great outdoors, it’s no wonder I prefer to sit safely at home, plotting murders and writing about them, and where there is absolutely no danger of any unflattering photos at all.