Stuff and Things

Quite an exercisey day yesterday. As well as having a morning run, I went for a game of golf after work. The weather co-operated, and it turned into a nice evening with a couple of drawbacks. Paul and I had headed off to Bearsden Golf Club, a nice wee 9-holer we've played a couple of times recently along with two of our Spanish colleagues. We got there nice and early, just after 6, only to be told that women can't tee-off after six on a Wednesday. No, really.
So we hastily rearranged and headed off to Hilton Park instead, which is Paul's old course and about 15 minutes away. The course is well kept but very, very hilly. I doubt there's a piece of fairway where you could drop a ball without it running away from you. And it's home to every type of flying insect, and some which can hop. Despite the Skin So Soft I was slapping away bugs on almost every hole.  I was playing ok, but because of the hills and trees (presumably put there to stop your ball running downhill to the sea, 5 miles away) managed to lose 3 balls.
We played half a round, and then sat down outside the clubhouse to enjoy the view and have a well deserved drink. 

Had a night of strange dreams - I was spending the night in a railway waiting room with my ex and our son, and she turned out to be a hustler at some European-wide business game. 

I woke up with sore legs (presumably from running away) so Merlin got a stroll instead of a jog. Which gave me an excuse to use my new camera on the walk...

When I grow up, I want to...

Driving into work this morning I was listening to Angela Hewitt's recording of Bach's "The Well Tempered Clavier", and it reminded me that I'm thinking of taking piano lessons this Autumn. Tonight, I'm off to the fencing club. With both thoughts bumping off each other, I started wondering what other things I'd like to be able to do. And that I’d already (in the words of a half-remembered quote about three things a man must do in his life) planted a tree, raised a child and married a woman. I’d even done one of them three times (Plum, Cherry and Eucalyptus) (Cherry will be 13 this year. Lovely girl). And this wandered off into wondering what the accomplished man should be able to do (yes, that's man - I'm not altogether sure any woman would bother make the same sort of list, or what would be on it). I suppose I need to define my terms first... Hmm, if I was just talking about this with Billking1959 it would be easy - what would David Mansion do - but since Mansion's life and works are known only to The Few (partly for reasons of national security, but also, as ever, due to "the confederacy of dunces" who conspire against the great man, I'll need to be a little more general.

 

I'm talking about the sort of man who could drop from a plane, swim underwater with a rose in his teeth and drop a box of chocolates on a bedside table. The sort of man who can field strip a shot-gun without getting his tweeds dirty. James Bond as played by Sean, with a dash of Jason King and a soupcon of Cary Grant, with Gordon Ramsay's culinary skills and Alen Coren's  wit. You know, an everyman.

 

So far I've come up with the following list.

 

He must be able to:

 

• Fence - probably saber
• Use a bow - a real bow, not one those compound recurve things
• Drive fast cars – safely (his own safety, that is)
• Play chess, backgammon, roulette, blackjack and poker. Not bridge, though.
• Know his classics (within reason - it's ok to be familiar with, say, a half dozen of Shakespeare’s plays, and be able to quote a sonnet or two, but he shouldn't be able to recite the complete works).
• Be able to hold his liquor (no comments about "by the ears", please), and know his liquor (quiet at the back). Know his Speysides from his Islay's, his Alsace from his elbow. But not be a bore.
• Scuba dive.
• Be able to produce something of artistic merit - throw a pot, paint a picture, write a tune, oh and be able to play a tune, on something.
• Be able to cook (barbequing is not cooking. No it's not).
• Be able to change a plug, and iron a shirt, and sew on a button. Domestic incompetence is not manly, it’s feeble.
• Write a poem.
• Know at least one martial art.
• Use a gun.

 

So what else am I missing?