B is for Barefoot Bowls

I'd tried for weeks to organise our B is for Barefoot Bowls but unfortunately the weather gods conspired against me, so given a lull in the rain, we were on our way to do what we'll probably be doing in 20 years time, bowling.

There was a bit of casual approach to barefoot bowls at our local. Just turn up and we'll get you sorted and sure enough that's all we had to do. Of course no one was expecting us, no one got us sorted, but we paid our fees and the beer was really cheap so EGG was thrilled.

That was temporary though because they sent us off with the key to get our own bowls from the big green shed. EGG finds opening strange locks a bit challenging so after about ten minutes of a badly concealed temper tantrum with "this is all getting a bit too hard" muttered from between clenched teeth, I took over and opened that pesky roller door to reveal bowls heaven.

Everywhere you could see there were wooden crates with bowls in them. I guess this would be very exciting to real bowlers, but to rank amateurs like us well it was a case of too much choice, so we grabbed the closest ones and off we went.

Actually only one of us is a rank amateur and that's me. I find it the most mind-numbingly boring thing in the world, but then my attention span is short. EGG however was the runner up bowling champion of North Rockhampton. Pretty impressive hey? So when lessons were offered by the woman on the next green, we politely declined because EGG knew what he was doing.

Big mistake. He really is a terrible teacher. He doesn't explain how things work so I gave up and just started bowling them any old how and he got a bit cross because I wasn't taking it seriously. Actually I had had lessons a long, long time ago at a social day, but I didn't learn anything that time because I spent the whole time batting off my ancient old instructor's roaming hands. Ahh memories.

But anyway it got hot and humid and I got sunburn and they didn't want to put the covers over for us because there were only two of us so I started complaining and EGG said we could finish. We kindly offered to leave our bowls for the next group of people who might come and they said no we had to put our bowls away.

I took lead with the locks on the shed this time avoiding a potential tantrum which may have actually included the pelting of bowls at people. But no, we returned our bowls, locked up carefully, returned the key and wondered why barefoot bowls wasn't taking off at this particular club. It's a real mystery.

Q is for Queensland Roar

EGG and I have been together for a very long time and mostly it has been a happy time, except for one glaring little fault that EGG has (and it drives me mad)--he's a fair weather fan. Now he loves his sport, any sport, but he has been known to jump on the bandwagon of whatever sport we are doing well with.

Now we can mean anything--it can be an Australian team, a Queensland team, a Brisbane team, a worldwide team with a single Australian member (even if they only lived here for two weeks of their entire life)--it doesn't matter, just so long as we are winning. The Olympics sends him into a frenzy--he's an expert on judo, badminton and the high jump--any sport that might win us a medal. What he doesn't know about water polo since the Sydney Olympics? To his credit he sticks with his new team and its sport for a long time, but the thing that sends me crackers is that he never watched, read about, discussed that sport until we started doing well at it.

So it was a no-brainer really when I took him off to Q is for Queensland Roar because we are in the finals. Yes, Queensland with a long and lengthy history of two years in the comp, was in the finals. EGG had been talking about it all week and about how well we we doing.

So off we went with SSS in tow (she like her mother is not adverse to watching good looking boys run around a field for 80 minutes). But alas it almost fell through as a massive thunderstorm struck a half hour before kickoff and it looked like the Alphabet Family was going to be enjoying Q is for Queensland Rail for that is where we spent the first hour of our outing--stranded at Milton train station.

But it cleared and we joined the massive crowd for the kickoff. The atmosphere was tense, the crowd was cheering the home team and booing the opposition--gosh it was exciting, for about five minutes. I'm sorry, I just don't get soccer. I kept asking EGG why no one defended anyone and he tried to explain but then he gave up. The game must have been a bit too much for some of the players because they kept getting injured and then lay down on the ground trying to get the referee to wave around a piece of yellow paper. In fact that piece of yellow paper should have been an Academy Award considering all the acting that was going on. They called it injury, the fans called it milking a penalty, but me, I think they were just tired and needed a rest.

And why does the referee write all the bad things that the players do down in the little notebook he carries. It's 2008, surely they should use a Blackberry, or a PDA or at least a dictophone. Why don't they just look at the video replay?

Don't get me wrong though--I learned a lot. I learned a really cool chant that goes "North, south, east, west--this ref is dumb and deaf." I learned that when the goalkeeper from Queensland has the ball everyone chants gooooalllllkeeeeeper in a deep voice but when the opposition goalkeeper has the ball everyone yells "throw the ball you Sydney wanker". I learned that one from the delightful 9 year old fishwife sitting behind me. She's going to make some man very happy one day.

Anyway Queensland won 2-nil. EGG was beside himself. We'd won.

Q is for Queensland Roar--soccer is so boring.

I is for Ice Skating

I've alway wanted to be a Spice Girl. Yeah I know I can't sing, but neither can they, so the only question for me was which one would I be? I've had every hair colour except red so that cancels out Ginger, I'm about 30 years too late to be Baby and Scary is just plain scary (although EGG and SSS say I resemble her before my morning espresso). So that leaves Posh and Sporty--and Sporty was a real possibility until today's letter, because after completing our I is for Ice Skating, I have had my lofty visions of having any sporting prowess come crashing to the ground.

Yes I know you probably think I crashed and fell all over that skating rink, but the reality is much, much, much more humiliating.

EGG had been ice skating many moons ago so he was a bit excited when I announced my I. "Are you sure? You know you're not real good at this balancing thing."

He may have been referring to one of the times I fell off my bike, or that disaster with the skateboard, or maybe that time with the windsurfer, or probably that thing with the kayak, but this time it was going to be different.

So off we went, laced on the cool boots and then I stood up. Things went down hill from there. I couldn't stand up--at all. Where I had previously had a good grip on the earth, there were these skinny metal blades. You can see I hadn't really given this much thought. I'm not sure what I thought I would be skating on.

EGG fell around laughing for about five minutes, got bored and told me to "just get out there".

So I did and then turned around and sat back down. I couldn't do it. Oh the shame.

I sent EGG off without me and sat on the seat trying to build up the courage to go out on the rink--there were tiny children out there for goodness sake, how hard could it be? By the time EGG had completed his first lap I was ready to give it a go.

So I tripped out and clung to the wall with both hands (check out the picture). And that's where they stayed for the whole tortuous lap--and believe me there was only one lap.

I couldn't make those stupid skates work. When EGG told me to point my feet together more, they crashed into one another making me plummet forward, when he told me to take bigger steps my legs went in opposite directions. But I didn't crash because I hung onto that wall.

Anyone who was in the way of my progress around that wall I asked to move out of the way--and I didn't care if they were old or young. Three year olds giggled as they skated past me. But I did not let go of that wall as I sweated and swore my way around that rink. It was the most embarrassing fifteen minutes of my life.

EGG to his credit stuck with me the whole way, sensibly laughing behind my back so I couldn't see him. Then he took off and did a few impressive laps on his own (that's him showing off in the picture), not holding my hand as we skated side by side as I imagined when I first thought up the ridiculous idea.

Anyway thank you to all my friends who pointed out that ice skating would probably lead to broken legs, arms, wrists etc. No I didn't break anything, but I really, really hurt my arm clinging on to the wall (stop that laughing). I might have to go to the physio.

You know I think I'll be Posh Spice--just a fatter, poorer, David Beckham-free version.

I is for ice skating.