Born With a Suitcase y travel these days is hit and miss due to my domestic responsibilities and my travel ethos has also changed over the years involving an increased level of creature comforts (i.e. taking the single supplement rather than the multiple one with resident rat

After 25 years I find myself once again anticipating one of the 7 Natural Wonders of the World. Sun kissed, scantily clad, Swedish, twenty somethings mingle onboard ensuring every tourist is attended to. My mind meanders to when I was a bronzed, bony, blonde full of youthful vibrance, working on a boat doing tours to the reef in the Red Sea. Unwittingly, I attracted the attention of an entire boatload of Syrian senior school boys who were on an excursion. The interrogative interest was equally unnerving and uneven, favouring the starboard side, conducive to an eminent capsizing until Captain Cobi disbanded the gathering for safety.

“We are now at Hastings Reef. Make sure you stay at the back of the boat at all times and remember the safety signals,” bellowed Ingrid, intercepting my nostalgia into nimbler, simpler times. These rules are ridiculous. A quarter of a century ago we dived in and were left to our own devices for hours on end. I can’t wait to escape the crowd to observe coral and sea life which no one else was looking at. After fifteen minutes I decided no Nazi would notice if I swim off in front of the boat. Of course, Ingrid wasn’t born yesterday and gestured for me to get back with the others. I have no choice but to go on an organised tour as I do not own a boat.

With no thought to the years that had elapsed since I was here last, I snorkle and duck dive like a child, never tiring of the world's largest aquarium brimming with tropical sea life which are completely oblivious to your presence. After a few hours, I need to float on my back to rest. Eagle eye Ingrid spots the flotsam and sends out a tender boat to check on me. "I'm fine," I protest but am tossed a noodle, just in case. My mask is now accumulating a litre of snot (a natural reflex when water goes up my nose due to my mask not sealing properly). I can't empty it as the camera is in one hand and the annoying noodle is in the other.) I notice a very strong current and no matter how hard I swim, I am now in the outer Great Barrier Reef.

A toned, topless, tanned tender boat driver arrives. I told him I have a bad cramp. His dazzling eyes lock with mine as he leans down and clasps my hand. "I'll give you a massage," he promises but it's like trying to haul in a walrus. As I lift off my mask and smear the mucus away, he cuts for it as quick as he can back to the vessel and no foot massage is forthcoming! Despite my decay, the reef remains a definite wonder and a timeless highlight.