The sailing boats massed along the quay at Porto Cervo, Costa Smeralda, were of the very highest quality. Considering the wealth of there owners this was no surprise.

They had just moored up having raced in the Round the Island race, the island of Sardinia.

I walked slowly passed them, with Brent Tanner, an old friend. I wore an old Captain’s hat of my father’ trying to give the impression that I belonged; that I was one of them.

One boat stood out in its magnificence and we stopped before it. It was French, as was the owner, which was evident from his accent.

‘ello, zer,” he said with a big smile. “So, tell me. Which one of is your boat?”

“Well, actually,” I said pausing just slightly, “You can’t see it. It’s a submarine. Its under the water.”

“Oh well zat is very interesting,” he said, “because, you see, I do ‘ave a submarine, here, on my boat.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said slowly, elongating both words.

“So where are you staying,”

“Over there,” I said pointed to my father’s villa by the waters edge across the harbour.

“OK then. Tomorrow I will come. With the submarine.”

He did. As promised. With the submarine.

He laughed.

“Do you want to go down.”

“You bet!” we lads, answered. So he put bottles on us, told us to sit astride the tube that was the submarine, and showed us which buttons to press.

We descended slowly beneath the waves.

The water closed over us and within minutes we were totally lost!

Joe Hepworth C 2010