Fear Of Fun


An opportunity has presented itself where I may get to have myself a little adventure. It’s not a sure thing yet but despite that tonight Tracey and I sat down and went through the list I’d been sent, looking at the exciting possibilities.

“I could have a seal encounter,” I said eagerly, clicking the link. But, as I suspected, it had nothing to do with an autograph opportunity with the ninety’s icon. Tracey had images of me and Seal swimming, him in his white puffy shirt open to his belly button and me with floaties. I quickly moved on.

There was a helicopter ride which looked like fun.

“I could do that,” I told Tracey. I don’t like flying, but my sister, who is so fearful of planes she was once strip searched at the Sydney Airport because she was shaking so much they thought she must be a drug mule, went up in an ultra-light this week and I’d hate for her to have the chance to be all smug next time we sit down for a cuppa. Then I read the blurb. “What do they mean ‘with the doors removed’?”

“So you can see better I guess,” Tracey suggested.

“I’m not going up in that. The bloody thing is falling apart.”

We moved on to the rally laps.

“Eight laps and one hot lap,” I said to Tracey. “I reckon I’d be a natural – I already drive like I’m in a rally car.”

“You wouldn’t make three,” Tracey told me.

“You really think I’d crash?”

“I think you’d ruin their gearbox.”

Briefly, I considered climbing the Story Bridge, but I once froze three steps from the top of a slide at Wet & Wild. That was embarrassing enough.

The cooking lessons looked fantastic, but I wasn’t so sure about the dinner for two.

“Why would they call it a disgusting five course dinner?” I wanted to know. “That’s not very good marketing.”

“It’s a degustation dinner,” said Tracey.

Still sounds foul.

“No, I think it’s time I faced my fears,” I told my wife and pointed, rather bravely, at the shark diving option. Even as I said it a little part of me curled into a fetal position. I got my Padi diving certificate when I was 16, diving on the Great Barrier Reef, down a volcanic lake and off the shore in Papua New Guinea. Sharks were the nemesis of my imagination, but only because I didn’t realize how many other dangerous fish were out there – like stonefish and stingrays and whitebait (I once chocked on a patty). I was forever picturing a shark coming out of the darkness of the ocean towards me.

Still, these would be well fed sharks and I’d have an experienced diver with me who I could throw in front of any sinister sharks.

“You’d resemble an octopus,” Tracey told me.

“Waving my arms so hard for help it looks like I’ve got eight of them?” I asked her.

“Losing bowel control and making an ink cloud,” she said. Then she mentioned something about making me a barley belt and I lost her for a minute. Hilarious. Finally, she pointed to the last item on the list. “If I were you I’d go with this. So long as you take it slow you should be fine.”

I clicked on the link.

It was the High Tea option.

Maybe I could have it with a coffee. Nothing like living on the edge.

When not typing away over here and checking his stats every two minutes Bruce Devereaux hangs out at his ‘BIG FAMILY little income’  Facebook Page.

 ’raising a family on little more than laughs’

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