Somebody asked me for my top diving innovation of 2002. I'm a great believer that these questions reveal far more about the aspirations of the person answering than about the merits of the kit.
     I wish I could tell you that I agonised over the pros and cons of the lovely VR3 computer, or the splendour of a Custom Divers HID light, but the truth is that the invention that rocked my world was the McCain instant chip dispenser in the garage shop at Reading Services on the M4.
     You rush home on Friday, throw your dive gear in the car, tackle monster jams at Hammersmith and tailbacks at the junction of the M25. You get to Reading feeling weary yet elated by your achievement; as if you've single-handedly strangled the entire cast of Popstars - The Rivals.
     You run into the garage shop in search of the least-soggy sarnie and there it is, the intriguing sight of an instant chip dispenser.
     Anyone who has ever been into a garage and made the mistake of buying those chips that you microwave in their box will know that the box is actually tastier than the chips inside. You may be a bit wary.
     This is different. You stick your money into the slot, spend a minute or so contemplating whether a curry-flavoured Pot Noodle would be a wise purchase for tomorrow's lunch on the boat, and then your chips arrive - freshly cooked in superheated hot air.
     Fantastic. Fast and satisfying enough to enable you to get to Plymouth before the pubs close and you're locked out of the B&B.
     Of course, it's the next morning before you discover that, in your haste, you've managed to pack 43 pairs of knickers, your undersuit and a lone angora jumper.
     The painful truth is that nobody will notice - as long as you have all your dive kit. Forget your weightbelt and you'll be laughed out of town.
     Apart from the notable diving weekend when I left every stitch of clothing, including my undersuit, in a bag placed neatly on the top stair at home, I can honestly say that I've never been short of underwear on a UK dive trip.
     Logic may dictate that in the course of the average dive weekend you're unlikely to get through more than four or five pairs of pants, but they don't take up any space and, well, you never know.
     When it comes to redundancy, you can never have too many pairs of knickers, so why not just pack the lot?
     The downside to this strategy is that my extensive collection of designer briefs appears to be dwindling, leading me to the uncomfortable conclusion that I'm leaving a trail of discarded undies around the prime South Coast dive spots. Scary indeed.
     The UK is one thing, but a dive trip abroad presents a different challenge. My tactic is to start with the essential dive gear, only to realise quickly that I've grossly exceeded my baggage allowance. If I'm really lucky, I'll be able to sacrifice the third back-up torch and spare wetsuit for three T-shirts, my underwear and some sunblock.
     Unfortunately, on a dive trip to Malta I got so carried away with the kit that I overlooked the last-minute substitution of equipment for underwear. And so it was that I found myself knickerless in Gozo.
     With a tight filming schedule and no time to shop, I could either take inspiration from my Buddy Commando BC or live in my swimsuit and a pair of lycra cycling shorts. And the painful truth? Nobody even noticed.
     Ultimately, I'm forced to conclude that the obsession with knickers is a girly pursuit.
     A bloke can tell you the exact brand, price and specification of every item of dive kit he owns, yet I can guarantee that he won't have a clue where his underpants came from.