Mr B is somewhat surprised when I ask him if we can watch the rugby on TV. My sudden interest in England versus South Africa at Twickenham (affectionately known, I am given to understand, as Twickers) has him puzzled.
Mr B loves it when I watch sporting events with him. Like the Ryder Cup - an event spread over several days so that I can find myself properly immersed in the triumphs and disasters being rolled out in front of me on
the TV screen. I prefer my sporting events short and sweet, with regular intervals when I can sneak into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Mr B says that a cup of coffee is my Answer For Everything. He isn't far wrong there.
Some years ago, we went on a golfing holiday to Spain. Well, Mr B went golfing and I went along for the holiday. My fellow golf widow was a shopaholic who enticed me into every single shop on every single drag, in search of Lladro figurines to add to
her already extensive collection. Sadly, she did not find the same enchantment in the beach so, despite staying in an area boasting one of the most beautiful beaches on the Costa del Sol, I never got to sunbathe or have so much as a paddle. Too many Lladro
shops to be explored. In case you are thinking what a martyr I was, I did stipulate that a morning swim in the pool of our apartment block was my "non-negotiable." My friend took this well and every morning when I emerged from the pool after my requisite number
of widths (lengths were out of the question for fear of going out of my depth - such a wimp I am!) she would have a hot cup of coffee and breakfast waiting for me, bless her.
One day we decided to accompany
our fellas on their golfing trip. They were playing the famous golf course at Valderrama and we reckoned we would regret it if we didn't go along for the ride. As in golf buggy ride, which cost us an arm and a leg, as they say. Why DO together say that, by
the way? Is there a hidden meaning of which I am unaware?
I have just checked it out and the favourite interpretation is that in the olden days portrait painters
charged less for a head and shoulders picture of the subject in question, who would have to pay up a lot more to have his or her arms and legs included. Plausible though this appears, it is apparently Wrong, All Wrong, which is a pity because I would like
to have been able to trot it out in conversations. In France, they talk about something costing "the eyes from your head" which is just scary, don't you think, while Bulgarians talk of "costing your mother and father." Don't you just love it when the Daily
Blog comes over all educational?
I couldn't imagine how I would survive four or five hours in a golf buggy and pondered on which book or books I should take with me to while away the time. Amazingly, I thoroughly
enjoyed the whole experience - perhaps the influence of the brooding Rock of Gibraltar? - and the hours flew by. Which just shows one should always be prepared to be surprised.
Which takes me back to the beginning
of today's blog and my reasons for wanting to watch the rugby. These were nothing at all to do with the match but everything to do with the fact that my friend Margaret was singing with the Gamesmakers' Choir before the match. The members of this rather special
choir, in case you don't know, were all volunteers - Gamesmakers - at the 2012 Olympics and Paralympics. How thrilling to know that the Unfailingly Cheery Ones who made so many visitors' days are still inspiring people, now through song. Disapointingly, Sky
TV for some reason focussed completely on the rugby players - how irritating is that? I could see the choir in the background, singing away merrily despite the rain, but they were too far out from the camera shot for me to scan their faces in search of my
Still, you see, she was there, even if I couldn't see her. How special was that? And knowing Margaret, she will have been singing her heart out.
The rugby? Oh, yes, Mr B tells me England lost to South Africa.
Wasn't I supposed to be watching, he wanted to know?