Went snorkelling today: the idea was to fin over to the Cristo Rei statue, but the sea was a smidge choppy. I tend to gauge risks by what I imagine my mother would say if I died under those circumstances. Today imaginary-mom was quite scathing:And are you telling me that she kept swimming farther out with the sea that rough? Idiot. [Stubs out cigarette harshly]. Well, I'm not saying anything.
So I turned back and started my battle against the current. It was very slow going, which gave me ample time to consider scabbard fish. Apart from being a local delicacy, they're one of those fish that live way down under immense pressure. Apparently their entrails are spat out when they're being reeled in because the decompression is too much. Charming... 
But my point is, on my slow heaving paddle back along the coast, I was particularly grateful for the knowledge that no scabbards could be tootling around at my level!
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