Bloody whales

We didn't actually spend a whole three days trying to get a crap video uploaded onto the internet. No, we went hunting for blue whales. Which, as it turned out wasn't as a romantic event as it sounds.

To be honest, having tried this sort of adventure out in New Zealand a few years ago, I should have had a better idea of what was involved. A bloody early start, for one. Up at 4 am for a two-hour ride along the coast road south to Mirissa. As the sun rose we ploughed our way through a lively fish market at Mirissa's large harbour to our whaler. Here it is, look, and note the sunrise just behind it

Note the life jackets on the people downstairs. We were warned not to sit downstairs so we plonked ourselves upstairs where our eternally cheerful guide gave us sea sickness tablets. Which brings me to the second thing I should have remembered. Bloody whales like bloody deep trenches to dive into. And deep trenches usually act as a confluence for conflicting tidal waves which in turn brings a lot of exaggerated peaks and troughs . . . Here we are on the top deck half-wearing our mandatory life jackets:

Sure enough, an hour into deeper waters and the crew started to dispense little red and white plastic bags to those people on the top deck who were looking a little green. From the subsequent sounds over the crash of the waves I gathered that a full third of our intrepid whalers were not enjoying themselves. And, according to my pocket guide, January is Sri Lanka's quietest month sea-turbulence-wise.

The third thing I should have remembered is the state of the toilets on small tourist boats. Not brilliant for someone having an unexpected gastric attack. By this time the entire port side of the boat downstairs had been rendered uninhabitable due to the spray. I slipped on the wet steps trying to get downstairs in the surge and was hanging in mid air with my hands on the railings, life racket open and flapping in the breeze. The toilet (OK, Head) couldn't be closed properly as the catch had snapped off, replaced as it was by a short twist of wire and threatening to blast open at any moment revealing me in my glory or slamming an unsuspecting guest off the boat. Worse, the back clips off my life belt were dangling unbeknownst to me in the very place you don't want them to dangle whilst enduring explosive decompression. The resultant cleanup operation then involved a very soggy cylinder of papier-mache that used to be a toilet roll while lurching around a confined space whose exit threatened to explode outwards. Sweating and swearing, I finally lurched out of hell into a very horrified woman who had been patiently waiting for her turn on the merryl-go-round. Now that event has been faithfully reported, let us never speak of it again!

And Linda? Oh, she was having a whale of a time (sorry!). Happy as Larry! You see, she actually likes boats! Incroyable! We even saw a blue whale after the first hour, although to my freshly minted blurred vision it looked suspiciously like another Disney animatronic. After another three hours there was a mutiny in the French and German ranks to go home. The naysayers, led by Linda (natch!), wanted to sail on to find more whales. The trouble is, while the New Zealanders have it easy with state of the art whale hunting sonar, the Sri Lankans merely have tens of enthusiastic crew hanging off the railings waiting to pronounce, "There she blows!". Linda was rewarded with a couple more sightings before we were allowed to return to Terra firma. She says she won't take me on a boat again.