Swims with Sharks

Instead of moaning about work and certain colleagues, as I seem to be doing in this blog, I thought I'd let you in on the reason for my 'Red Indian' name. Now, before anyone starts shrieking, 'Native American! Native American!' at their screen, 'Red Indian' is not used in any way perjoratively. 'Cowboys and Native Americans' doesn't have the same ring to it as 'Cowboys and Indians', just as 'Cops and Robbers' could never be replaced by 'Policemen and Financially-Challenged-Individuals-Just-Trying-To-Make-Ends-Meet'.

But I digress (because Mozzie has just come in and LEFT THE EFFING DOOR OPEN! AGAIN!)

Back in the summer of '77, the year after the really hot one, I was staying with a relative in Highcliffe. Every evening I would go down to the beach for a swim and one night I was the only one in the water. I didn't understand why people on the top of the cliff were waving at me - just friendly, I thought, and waved back. There were no red flags flying to indicate that the current was dangerous, so I swam for about half an hour and then went back to to the house. My aunt looked horrified that I should have been swimming and pointed to the front page of the local paper. 'Basking Sharks spotted off Highcliffe Beach.' So that's why everyone was waving in a, 'Shark! Get out of the water!' kind of way! And so my name of Swims With Sharks was born.

Years later, my very good friend Debbie acquired her own Red Indian name. Whilst touring Australia, the guide stopped the landrover at a beautiful lake and suggested they all went for a swim.

'What about the crocodiles?' my friend Debbie asked, trying to sound brave.

'Oh, don't worry about crocs,' grinned the guide. 'Freshies are vegetarian. Just stay away from the edge.'

And Debbie, sweet, trusting lady that she is, jumped in the water and splashed around, oblivious to the fact that there is no such thing as a vegetarian crocodile. Freshies tend to stick to very small mammals, and she was in no real danger (although when a log floated past she did an extremely good impersonation of a cartoon character running on the spot on the surface of the water!)

Thus 'Swims With Crocodiles' joined my 'tribe'.

We now have a third member of our tribe, although not nearly as brave and fearless. Our friend Anne, stuck in a time-warp, dances a kind of jive-rock to any music that happens to be playing. I have managed to stop her doing it at funerals, but any other occasion is fair game, and woe betide any man (woman or child!) who happens to be in the vicinity. I remember with a mixture of horror and admiration the time she whirled around a man in a neck brace, ignoring his protests that he'd been ordered by his doctor to keep still. Debbie casually asked me, last time we were all together, what Anne's Red Indian name would be and, quick as a flash, it came to me: Dances With Anyone.

This is one of those 'I guess you had to be there' stories but it's cheered me up no end to remember it.