I have finally discovered my true calling.
All this time wasted behind a desk making C.E.O’s feel good about animals locked up in cages when I could have been out there bog snorkelling.
That’s right; snorkelling through bog.
Dirty mucky thick wet stuff that was good for the pores and cost a fortune to be plastered with down in St Kilda, but over in Wales it’s all the rage. Everyone knew – especially the Welsh – that crystal waters and coral reefs were so overrated, and the extra bonus of a bog, apart from glistening skin post serious shower, is that there aren’t any sharks nibbling on your nether regions to worry about. I will however check just in case there is a rare species of Great Brown Shark that infests Britain’s trenches before I book myself a ticket.
The other thing I have to look up is if they provide the necessary gear, as although I quite happy to swim through someone else’s muck, there’s no way I’m sharing a snorkel.
Ms training-in-the-Yarra M.
