Back in the early 90s, during life before children, I was in my late twenties and early thirties; I was at the peak of my fitness. Every weekend was spent hill walking, biking or doing general outdoor stuff.
My tendency, as a teenager and young adult, to back away from anything unknown had served me well. It kept me away from serious drugs while allowing me the relatively safe hit of alcohol. It kept me from dangerous pastimes and any new venture was met with vigorous bouts of kicking and screaming on my part. Everything was done on my terms and I scarcely ventured out of my comfort zone. Now, as I see my eldest daughter growing up with the same reticent sense of self preservation, I realise that I no longer hold the same set of values. I wouldn’t say I’m making up for lost time but I do believe you’re never too old to try something new.
So, with the kids packed away to their cousins along with their grandparents, Valentine’s day beckoning and the winter Olympics set to start, the weekend seemed set for some adult fun with no kids around to complain about what we were eating, how much we were drinking, what we were watching on TV or which recreational activities we chose to pursue.
Two full days to do whatever we wanted!
No gymnastics run. No requests to go into town or the cinema.
Despite my love for moaning about it, one of the advantages to living where I do is the close proximity to the Cairngorms. Within an hour or so, I can be away from the city, wrapped up in wilderness and away from people. The other great thing is the fact that when you combine continual northerly airflow with altitudes above 3000 feet, you get snow. Not only do you get snow but you get it in such sufficiency that it is possible to ski on decent and challenging outdoor slopes. When I was younger, I was a skier of reasonable ability (after overcoming the hurdle of my comfort zone). OK, so Alberta Tomba never had anything to worry about but despite my modest technical ability, I could handle pretty much any slope. So having had the best snow we’ve had in about twenty years we were set for a weekend of skiing.
Then, someone had the bright idea that we should go boarding.
Totally rad, I thought.
Bit of a young things game with its own code, its own lingo and its own style.
My old eighties, Milk Tray man ski suit was sure to make me look like a complete twat and I was worried about the fact that I would probably want to ski rather than board but hey, I was up for it.
Now, if you imagine this to be a Disney cartoon with a voiceover by James McAvoy, I‘m sure you can guess that by the time the end credits roll, I’m popping tricks like Shaun White on speed. Not the case. Fortunately for me, and everyone else, this ain’t no Buena Vista production and I scarcely come close to Mr White in the hair, teeth or skills department. In fact, I’m pretty sure even if I wound the clock back twenty years and went at this full tilt, anything more elaborate than a falling leaf descent would still elude me for many years to come. Still, going into this with some experience as a two planker, I figured I was going to be able to deal with the theory and the embarrassment of some spectacular wipe outs. As it turned out, I needn’t have concerned myself with any of that. The worst thing, apart from being skied into by a novice skier while trying to get myself upright, was the pain that I was left with the day after. I never came to grief, although the afore-mentioned novice did leave me with a nice big bruise after she skied across my stomach. She was very apologetic and, to be perfectly honest, I was in no position to complain. Had she been built like an East German shot putter with a face like a box of toads it might have been a different story. Let’s just say I’ve had worse experiences and having someone ski across your stomach isn’t the worst thing that can happen to your Saturday afternoon. No, the pain was solely down to the continued effort of pushing myself upright from behind. This was akin to backwards press ups with someone continuously kicking your feet out from underneath you.
Anyway, having got the hang of getting upright and managing to get from one end of the slope to the other without injuring myself or anyone else, I was feeling quite pleased with the days efforts. A quick nip down the road, stopping off for an Indian carry out on the way home, and we were seated, beer in one hand, pakora in the other, watching the ski jumping on the telly. Bedtime on the horizon, now the fun was about to really begin.
No, you dirty buggers, that’s not what I mean.
Although I did manage to get up the stairs, anything involving any form of co-ordinated movement using the arms or upper body, were rendered impossible by the cumulating pain in my arms and shoulders coupled with an inability to control my motor skills.
After a restless night of broken sleep, I awoke on Sunday morning to a cup of coffee, some heart-shaped chocolate thingies and the overwhelming feeling that I’d been the victim of some exotic form of assault and battery that involved being swung around by the arms then being tangentially released at speed into a brick wall, kind of like the hammer throwing that you see in the Olympics I guess, except without the female oxter hair and popping neck veins.
As Sunday proceeded, the simple things like tying boot laces, picking up carelessly dropped items and wiping one’s arse became marginally impossible.
Too much information I hear you say, but if you’ve ever injured your back, or anything else for that matter, you’ll know what I mean. It’s the simple things in life that get you down.
People have invented things to simplify these matters.
The stair-lift; the auto-grabber; the slip on shoe.
Sadly, aside from the bidet, no one has invented the auto butt wiper. I visualise one of those things we use in industry for wiping boots on; two upturned brushes with a vertical handle at the top to save the user from falling over. Raise the brush to butt level, replace it with a roll of Andrex and affect a sort of humping motion over it.
Bingo - assuming your stomach muscles will permit anything like a humping motion.
At least you only have to do it once a day.
Makes last night’s curry seem like not such a good idea though...
As for the boarding? What a blast.
Already planning my next trip
What better way to celebrate the best Scotland has to offer…
Big Country – Glasgow Apollo, 21.12.1984
http://www.sendspace.com/file/qxm6d7
Arab Strap - Centro Social Espanol, Montreal 12.04.2001
http://www.sendspace.com/file/6l4kau
Arab Strap - La Tulipe, Montreal, 05.04.2006
http://www.sendspace.com/file/20fwja
Television – CBGB 18.02.1976
http://www.sendspace.com/file/6heutl
Velvet Crush - New York, 21.10.1994
http://www.sendspace.com/file/gw6tvr
Garbage - Long Beach Arena, CA, 29.11.2002
http://www.sendspace.com/file/6jkj6i
Felice Brothers – Grimey’s Store Nashville, 04.04.2008
http://www.sendspace.com/file/93coln
Felice Brothers – Mercy Lounge, Nashville, 03.04.2008
http://www.sendspace.com/file/x9wykd
Pulp – Black Session, 20.10.1995
http://www.sendspace.com/file/683a7j
Pulp - Glasgow, 04.04.1994
http://www.sendspace.com/file/4vfq04
Cat Power - Astor Theatre Perth, Australia, 06.01.2010
http://www.sendspace.com/file/wcp9wf
Led Zeppelin – Detroit, 12.07.1973
http://www.sendspace.com/file/intqkf
Steve Earle – Perth Concert Hall, 07.12.2009
http://www.sendspace.com/file/937vsn
Dave Sharp – Kilmarnock, 15.09.1991
http://www.sendspace.com/file/if59j9
The Alarm – Middlesborough Town Hall, 05.11.1984
http://www.sendspace.com/file/8phlo0
Pete Wylie – Bradford Pennington’s, 02.05.2002
http://www.sendspace.com/file/ex2d91
The Stranglers - Live In Toronto 1980
http://www.sendspace.com/file/yng6qc
The Beatles – Montreal Quebec, 09.08.1964
http://www.sendspace.com/file/ent3fx
Jethro Tull – Toronto, 04.06.1972
http://www.sendspace.com/file/xqeyxw
Til next time, enjoy.
Hooli
Monday, 15 February 2010
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