NOTES FROM UNDERGROUND

Was this in Ireland or the States?

Yesterday, I went for a drive to the beach with three friends of mine. As we are all men, we thought it would be a good idea to climb on the rocks. It was easy enough to start with; it wasn't so much climbing on rocks as around them. Then Killian lost his glasses. Actually, after a particularly soul-filled leap, F. had grabbed Killian's head and knocked his glasses into about five feet of freezing April sea. It took us some time to retrieve the glasses, during which we failed to notice our original path slowly being covered by ten feet of water.

We were not yet worried. That would come later. The main thrust of the afternoon had become reaching the beach without getting wet. About seven hours later, this thrust had changed to reaching the beach at all. There were a series of four small inlets, all covered in sucking surf, and a water level that oscillated between three feet to eight feet in a matter of unpredictable increments of seconds. None of us can swim. Will we be forced to sleep on this cold, rocky place, I thought: will they hear me snore?

The first rescue vehicle of which we were made aware was a small truck with Cliff Rescue written on it. This turned out to be a misnomer, as the equipment that they would normally use to winch us up was "in Dublin, being repaired". Filled with a renewed sense of cynicism, we then saw a boat approaching from the mainland, and sighed wearily. A few minutes later, a brand new Sikorsky helicopter came over the horizon and then swung around. The lady in the boat radioed the helicopter to tell them that we were OK and they were not needed. The pilot seemed pleased, although it's hard to tell from seven hundred yards away when they're wearing those helmets.

We had to sign our names in a little book in the boathouse. As we were all still in shock, we signed our real names. There was a map on the wall, covered in little red pins, and one green one and one blue one. She explained that the map was a record of all their rescues, and the red pins were people who were dead by the time they were pulled out of the water. She seemed very happy that we were alive, although faintly displeased that we had interrupted an episode of "Seventh Heaven".

If I go to Ireland, don't climb on the rocks, as the rescue team has a very small success rate. Got it.

Long story short, my shirt got caught on the trolley and ripped open.

That reminds me of a time when there was some robbery in a shop a few doors down from mine. The police had reason to believe that the guilty party came into my shop also. I willingly gave them the surveillance tape.

Afterwards, I realised that there was a ten minute section where I had taken a statue of Jesus and poked his head into the viewing field of the camera to amuse a child, saying: "Look at the monitor - it's a miracle! A miracle!". For about ten minutes. Until the kid left.