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We are on the latter half of our week in the Greek Aegean . Known as “Crete part two: escape from Sissi” as we try to forget the ’boutique’ hotel that was more Tesco than teashop and the ‘authentic Cretan village’ it nestled in more Portsmouth than Portobello. But fabulous if you’d been expecting a Premier Inn. But we weren’t so it is a joy to be in a wonderful place with its own beach and water sports. Which we availed ourselves of yesterday hiring a speedboat and its captain to take us on a seaborne adventure and stopping on the way for snorkelling and general cooling off in the blue waters.

And each of us took a turn at the helm. Starting with son who has never even tried to drive a car, but seemed to take to the water with ease whizzing us along the coastline. The daughters pressed the throttle even further and enjoyed the weaving in and out of bays. Cap’n Clarke himself also managed to keep us all afloat and seemed a natural. Then it was my turn. I’ve always loved driving. The dodgems were my favourite fairground ride. I watched rallies as a teen and learnt to drive as soon as I could. I may have mentioned an illegal escapade here.

So it was with no fear that I perched behind the wheel of the beautiful speedboat. Too short to see ¬†without standing up, I focused on the horizon and sped off. Within moments the real captain was trying to help hubby to his feet. He had been thrown upwards so violently by my crashing through the waves that he had “broken his arse’ as he so delicately put it crashing back down on to his seat and thence to the floor. But he gallantly waved me to continue so I did. Pushing the throttle forward again, rising high above the waves, a daughter screamed and threw her Mythos over her sister as she too succumbed to the white knuckle ride that was my driving. The beercan crushed in fear as she too landed on the floor of the boat. Chessington should employ me.

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