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It's probably not unheard of for teenagers to tell their parents to go and take a running jump - but in my house they really mean it. And so it was that I come to have made my first attempt at coasteering - or "jumping off a cliff into the Atlantic Ocean," to give a more detailed title to the most extreme part of what the sport involves.

Actually I'm not sure that "sport" is really the right word, but then that has been said through the generations: what once was said about skateboarding is said now about coasteering. But regardless of whether it's a sport or just a "craze," coasteering is fast becoming a regular money-spinning venture in Cornwall, particularly on the north coast.

Both my daughters seem to have grown up in wetsuits, never far from their surfboards; the beach has been a huge part of their lives. And against my better judgement, defying the wisdom of my years etc etc, I submitted to the kids' encouragement, took myself off to Port Gaverne and pondered the chances of beating gravity.

I could have just said "no." I could have protested about the difference between necessary risk and unnecessary risk; about the needless burden on medical and emergency rescue services; I could have said I am far too old; I could have just been honest about my cowardice.

And you know what? It's great fun. Hauling yourself out of the water and climbing 30 feet up the cliff is the hard part. Jumping back in is relatively easy (if you don't think about it.) Gravity completes its mission far too quickly. Either that, or I need a bigger cliff. David Cameron, who is about to start a fortnight's holiday in north Cornwall, should try it.