Free Divers call us Scuba-Doers. They say we're noisy underwater and scare the fish off. Compared to them we may be just a tad clumsy in all our gear, and lets face it, a lot of divers could do with a few sessions at Weight-Watchers. But I think its time to set the record straight. There is something fishy about Free Divers. They do amazing things underwater. They wear the clingiest wetsuits ever made, they're lean, they're tanned, they have huge lungs, and they're jolly brave. They should be the sexiest men and women on the planet. But they're not. Think back to The Big Blue. Remember the character played by Jean Marc Barr? He fell in love (sort of) with Rosanna Arquette, and then dumped her like a leaky BC when she got pregnant. Dumped her for a dolphin. And that film is regarded as a masterpiece by free divers, a total summation of what the sport is all about. I'm as keen on dolphins as the next mammal, but really. I recently spent a week with some free divers, or apneists as they prefer to be called, and began to realise that there was something not quite right about the sport. It was a girl who first tipped me the wink that something was missing. Look, she said, these guys are driving me crazy. I mean look at me, men usually find me attractive, I've got a good bod, but these guys haven't made a single pass at me. You'll have to trust me on this, the lady in question was vivacious, a good diver and very sexy. Every morning she would turn up at the diving centre and take as long as possible to change into the skimpiest of swimsuits while the lean muscular apneists talked about their internal focus and positive anchors that would keep them concentrating on the pleasure of not breathing. Try as she might, the lady diver was ignored. Personally, I think the lack of libido can be explained by the fact that no-one had been allowed breakfast, because as everyone knows, you can't do static apnea on a full stomach. Nil By Mouth other than liquids, the apnea students were told. It reminded me of preparing for a surgical operation. Watching the bronzed gods in their tiny tangas, it suddenly hit me. I'd been here before. It was at university in the rowing team. Everyone was fit, had perfectly defined stomach muscles and latisimus dorsi like bats wings, bulging quadriceps and very short hair cuts. Dare I say it, there was a discernibly homoerotic flavour to the environment. I'm not saying that these guys were all practising homosexuals, you understand (and good luck to them if they were), its just that there was a certain je ne sais quoi in the changing rooms. Now, I'm sure we're all man enough to admit it, if we try. Men do look at other mens bodies, just like women check out other women. But there is something deeply egocentric about free-diving. And with self worship there has to be a whole lot of emotional baggage. A free diving instructor recently told me that he was sure Free Diving was the sport for the new century. Think of it he said, as my eyes glazed over; a man in perfect physical condition, streamlined and pure, following a white line down into the blue depths. His physique is trained, his physiology in balance, his psychological balance in equilibrium. He follows the line into the depths, and then he has the choice, to stay and become one with the sea, or return, return to the air-world and he must fight to get there. When he reaches the surface, that first breath is like being reborn - the image is irresistible, full of meaning, full of beauty. Psycho-overload. And then he started about yoga. I'm not a yogi, but I do know that a lot of free-divers are up their own chakras. They talk about mental imaging, pyjamarama breathing (or something like it) and positive anchors. Get real. I was at a public swimming pool one night where some free divers were training. They weren't anything like the guys in the Big Blue. These were not gods. And frankly the pool manager was quite worried when he saw them lying face down on the surface with the instructor shouting Suck. Blow. Suck. Its been said that pushing yourself to the limits in Free Diving can lead to a mystical feeling of elation, a white light in the brain, and of course a blackout underwater. For the lucky ones. A doctor told me he had seen the same sort of thing described many times in coroners reports on autoerotic death. You know, plastic bags over the head, an orange segment in the mouth and a pile of adult magazines beside the body. Big blue alright. The other problem with Free Divers is that they make the rest of us on scuba look like wimps. Don't they realise its taken years to develop all this equipment and make it look sexy, macho, dangerous and daring? Whats the point of us togging up in forty pounds worth of neoprene, 200 denier nylon and enough air cylinders to support life on a small planet if they're going to achieve the same thing with a pair of fins that go on forever and goggles that look like they were left behind by Biggles. Come on Divegirls, if you know any Free Divers who are interested in the opposite sex, let me know, and I'll pass their names on to my frustrated friend.

Freediving is definitely for girls - as anyone who saw Tanya Streeter at the dive show will know. There's so little kit to carry that if it weren't for the pervasive feeling of having forgotten something (everything?), you could feel really smug watching overloaded scuba divers staggering down the shore or jetty. Serious freedivers - most seem to be spearfishers too - have some mystical ideas about our origins as marine or littoral mammals, and using ancient memory, as it were, to return to it. Maybe they just can't own up to fantasising about being dolphins. Whatever one's beliefs, freediving is a sport where dive girls' streamlined build and natural elegance should be an asset, and where women compete on equal terms. Of course, it means shopping for new kit - a low volume mask not to waste previous oxygen counteracting mask squeeze, an unbendy and valveless snorkel, super-duper extra long and bendy (size is everything) fins, and a hipster rubber weight belt and minimum drag weights. Plus a smoothy wetsuit ... After that, it's just holding your breath, doing perfect duck dives (if only), and enjoying those few moments on the bottom before you come shooting up for air. My freediving course involved sampling the delights of Fort Bovisand, and mixed physiological theory (mostly familiar to divers), demonstration, and practice. I'd got stuck at under a minute breatholding above or below water, so that learning about it, practicing in water, and even watching Howard Jones hold his breath for 4 minutes all helped. Breathholding requires work mainly on the psychological barriers, or at least the physical barriers are further off than one thinks. Learning to fin differently, to relax as fully as possible, to be sparing in using oxygen, were all covered and practiced with feedback. It felt great to fin under the kelp with nothing to snag on it, to swim gently into a shoal of fish without alarming them, and to relax so fully at the surface between dives. Living in London makes it hard to practice - apart from a pool, the only opportunity I've had for practice has been in Loch Lomond, which is full of eels and a surprising number of old shoes. No great depth - I blame it on not having the right fins yet - but it feels good to stay down feeling relaxed and not fighting the compulsion to breathe every moment. With more practice, increasing the time should be reasonable, although I doubt I'll reach the 4 and 5 minutes which many do. And safety requires buddy pairing, to keep the boats and jetskis away, and to watch for blackout on the way up, as although weighting is for positive buoyancy in the top 5-6 metres, it's helpful to be turned face up, and resuscitated if necessary. Amanda CdeC Williams Contact Howard Jones at Unboxed Blue, Bovisand for details of freediving courses Tel: 01752 480 763