After getting lost down a genuinely confusing terraced street system in Southwick, near Brighton in West Sussex, we rocked up at Sussex Marine Watersports Ltd to play around on a couple of Sea-Doo’s newest machines. The last time I’d been on a personal water craft, I was 10 and had given my mum whiplash by going far too fast over the choppy waves at a Jamaican resort. When they asked whether I’d ever done something like this before, I needless to say left out the bit about giving my mum whiplash.

“You’re going too slow, man. Now you will know what true speed feels like”

Turns out my previous experience was enough to go solo on one straight from the off, leaving James to initially at least ride on the back of eccentric French dude Marcel’s pride and joy. After getting changed into our wetsuits, in literally the wettest shed in the world, it was time to kick this water sport party up a notch and head out onto the water.

Sitting on the back of a Sea-Doo RXP-X 300, which I would later discover costs around £15,000, I genuinely felt slightly intimidated as I got backed into the water. Garry the shop owner had talked me through the start-up process beforehand, to ensure I didn’t flood the engine, but as soon as I fired it up I was taken aback by the potential this thing clearly held. The harbour had a low speed limit, so even though I was just cruising around slowly to begin with I could sense the untapped power thrumming away beneath me.

The water wasn’t the choppiest but, like a conker falling into a lake, we made our own waves. The wake these Sea-Doos throw up is mad. Digging up levels of courage I didn’t know I possessed, I was soon treating the wake like a collection of tiny kickers. It felt ridiculously thrilling, thrillingly ridiculous, and ever so slightly like I was auditioning for a presenter spot on the new Top Gear. My cynicism of petrol-based fun had well and truly disappeared. Yes, it was all very silly. Yes, it was all very stupid. But when you’re having such a good time, you sort of stop caring.

“…the engine roared beneath me like an angry robot lion.”

After about 10 minutes of speeding about, Marcel (who still had James perched on the back of his PWC) pulled up alongside me and said “I think you’re ready to go faster. I think you’re ready for sport mode.” Faster? Sport mode? It was clear from my raised eyebrows that I thought Marcel had lost control of his senses. He pressed a few buttons on my Sea-Doo, looked me in the eye and said “You’re going too slow, man. Now you will know what true speed feels like” before cackling like a chain-smoking French bond villain.

He squeezed the throttle on his own machine and shot off like a bullet. James, who was playing with his GoPro, clearly hadn’t been told that it was time to go and he fell backwards off the Sea-Doo and into the water. Fortunately, Marcel noticed and came back to get him. He laughed like a madman, as he pulled James back onboard. I liked Marcel, he was entertaining, but the mask of a responsible adult had slipped within minutes of leaving the harbour.

“OK. You follow me,” Marcel said. And just like that, he was gone (this time with James still attached). I did as he told me and followed on behind. Immediately, I noticed the difference between the two modes – sport and normal. Sport mode hit me like a brick to the face; an enjoyable brick to the face, but a brick to the face nevertheless.

“FUCKING HELL! FUCKING HELL!” I hollered, as the engine roared beneath me like an angry robot lion. Before this experience, I’d never thought it would be possible to rip apart the space-time continuum on a personal water craft but in those few minutes spent on sport mode I began doubting my admittedly limited physics knowledge.

“FUCKING HELL! FUCKING HELL!” I yelled again.

Fortunately, and presumably to ‘responsible adult’ Marcel’s great relief, we found James alive and well fairly quickly. His Sea-Doo was making intermittent beeping noises to signify a lack of petrol.

“Ah, OK. We go back now,” Marcel said with a disappointing glint in his eye.

On the way back, Marcel gave us a quick demonstration of his “freestyle” moves. Despite being highly impressive in a “you’ve clearly spent a lot of time working on this” sort of way, it did kind of remind me slightly of a teenage schoolboy doing donuts in a supermarket car park.

“…the Sea-Doo’s ferocious acceleration threatened to leave me kicking my legs in thin air like a cartoon character.”

Grey clouds formed over head and within seconds of reaching the harbour, the heavens opened. All the splashing about we’d done on the Sea-Doos though had left us soaking wet already, so the heavy rain did little to dampen our moods.

Final thoughts. I loved messing about on the Sea-Doos. They’re dumb, no doubt, but in that way that’s so undeniably fun you can’t help but enjoy yourself. There’s probably more practical ways to spend £15,000 but if you’ve got the dough going spare, and love tearing it up amongst the waves, why the hell not? Just don’t, whatever you do, crash into Marcel. He’ll kill you.

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