It would be an understatement to say I am a failure when it comes to going to major events. My pop concert count stands at one whole event, which was to see Bucks Fizz when I was 11. I’m not proud of the count, I still don’t mind saying that they were my favourite band back then. There was a certain suitability to The Land of Make Believe being my favourite song 😉 given I spent most of my life holed up in my bedroom with huge and complicated games spread across the floor, mostly constructed of paper clips and drawing pins, much to the bafflement of my much hipper sister.
I have since made it to Exeter’s Party in the Park, where I had the dubious pleasure of watching a Spice Girls tribute band, but I have to confess, I don’t really cope well with events of that nature. There are other people, for a start, and it’s loud and the toilet facilities are never good enough. What can I say, I’m unsociable in that particular way, lose the ability to converse in loud noise and I have bathroom issues. I never get the thing with going to events where having fun chatting to people is one of the points of it, where the music is then too loud to make yourself heard over it 😯
I’m not remotely a fan of sport either, so the chances of finding me at most types of sporting event are remote. I did love going to the World Gymnastics Finals a couple of years ago; I do understand that sport a bit and well, what can I say, the event had seats, not too many people, no seriously loud thumping music and good toilets.
You get the picture 😆
Papa Puddle is a different human entirely; while generally more socially reserved than I am, he’ll cheerfully dress up in period costume for historic car racing events, get up a 5am to stroll round the paddock looking a vintage racing cars he’s looked at regularly for 30 years or more and he loves going off to watch various sports. He goes to see rugby of one sort or another most years and kept his temper admirably when I wouldn’t let him buy England cricket tickets earlier this year because I was convinced it would precipitate baby bump disaster to spend money on a fixed moment in time.
I’m convinced most commentators on the TV and radio sport he enjoys were put on this earth to irritate wives with their endless statistic related burbling. I put up with it, the tedious comments on tennis, the unbelievably annoying ‘football grammar’ of Match of the Day, the earnest ‘the world has ended’ dissections after matches in relentless rugby tournaments. What drives me mad though, completely mad, are the people who commentate on cricket. I have never heard such inane rambling rubbish as those men manage to come up with. They need to go out and get jobs. In fact, I think it is the clearest indication of my commitment to my marital status that I will sit in the room with it. I heckle them though, because I think it is only right. No person should be able to make a living out of discussing bus routes, pigeons and cake*.
Come to think of it, perhaps cricket commentators were put on the earth to divert wives from heckling their husbands 😆