Summer 1990
Short in stature, curly in hair, skinny in girth and something of a swot: these were not the ingredients for being cool at school. And cool at school I was certainly not. But the swimming gala came round and offered me a chance to break free of my stereotype. And for that I have Sunday nights at The Merseyside Diving Club to thank. It provided me with a secret weapon: proficiency in diving.
The school gala was held at the Liverpool University swimming pool, and culminated in a diving competition open to the sixth form. Each competitor had two dives of their choice and could choose from the 1 metre and 3 metre springboards and 5 metre platform. I had seen how this worked in previous years: a conservative first dive from the 1 metre springboard, then at least one long haired muscle-bound upper sixth student launching himself from the 5 metre platform to great acclaim. For some reason, they always looked like Lemmy. Everyone at school was obliged to attend and the balcony would erupt with delight; it was the highlight of a monotonous, warm and stuffy poolside evening.
I didn’t fit the mould as a small lower sixth boy, but found the crowd coming with me for my first dive when I walked straight past the 1 metre board and started up the steps to the 3 metre board. This act alone immediately raised the anticipation levels and brought cheers. When I then attempted a one-and-a-half forward pike somersault, the atmosphere went up another notch. That I overspun and completely messed up the entry mattered not: I surfaced to waves of noise.
Lemmy responded forthwith with the traditional 5 metre platform hurl, the crowd baying. I had the contrast of small stature on my side, and a trick up my sleeve. I walked up to the 3 metre level, paused, then carried on up to the 5 metre platform to predictable clamour. I walked to the end of the platform, then slowly turned round and inched my heels out above the water to prepare to go off backwards. This was catnip. I’d not heard noise like it. I did an inward tuck with a clean entry, and the balcony was mine.
This is the closest I ever got to the line from Mr. November, “I used to be carried in the arms of cheerleaders”. Cheerleaders were absent, and I wasn’t physically carried, but the noise certainly raised me aloft. There was no higher point at school in terms of kudos and peer respect.