I went to Greece.

I didn't go diving.

Saturday morning, I went down to the harbour. At this point I'd had a couple of hours sleep in 48 hours (friends over from Spain, early morning flight, couldn't get to sleep for hours ...) and was feeling a bit giddy.

Get on the boat with the couple who run the diving school and a man named Bob, who has dived before. She starts explaining the equipment to me.

"There are areas of in your body which will be affected by the pressure, your lungs, your sinuses... you will have to clear your nose, like so, breathing through it, though you can't really breathe through it, it will regularise the pressure... we will take you down to 30 metres first of all..."

I am zoning in and out, and suddenly don't feel equipped to do this. I make my excuses, say I'll come back on Monday, drop a 20 euro deposit. They think I am a lunatic but agree.

Off I scarper, and get on a boat touring 2 nearby islands. Phew, I think.

30 metres. How deep is 30 metres? I have no idea, but it sounds pretty deep. The deep end of a swimming pool is not more than 8 metres, is it?

Over the weekend I start having moments of dread and anxiety. What if I can't get the hang of it? Okay maybe in a swimming pool, but what about in the sea? Don't you have to go over backwards off the boat? Wearing all that stuff on your back? Calm down, it'll be beautiful and amazing, swimming with the fishes... Okay, toss a coin, heads you do it, tails you cancel. Hmm, heads. Best of 3 then.

Eventually I get sick of myself, and make my mind up. I ring him in the morning to cancel. I am ashamed of being such a wuss. Luckily the line is bad and cuts out before I have to explain why.

When I get home, I talk to friends who have been diving. 30 metres? Straight in the sea? No way, Jose! Most of them learned in a swimming pool, and were taken down to 5 metres first to acclimatise. Glad I trusted my instincts.