Robert and I have started into our second season of curling. Enjoyable for the company (mostly men, and at a guess not many, if any, younger than forty-five).
Somehow I’m never really conscious of the fact that most of the time I’m the only female curler.
My daughter said she’s surprised there aren’t more females considering so much sweeping is involved. (Not very feminist statement, sorry, but nevertheless, rather funny I thought).
It’s enjoyable being on the ice – next best thing to skating – and as I don’t fancy breaking a leg, curling is preferable to ice skating these days. I enjoy wielding granite and the way the cheerful, rotund, stones sail, pivot, curl, kiss and slide – quick, slow … accurate, lucky …
I was challenged by our lovely friend Neville who coached us last year to ‘write a poem about curling’ … As yet one hasn’t eventuated. But when it does, it will be sure to contain the following words (some of them of a surprisingly domestic nature); Weight. Line. Tam-‘o-shanter. Whisky, Rock. Hob. Broom. Sweep. Circle. Stone. Home. House. Narrow. Wide.
And the line I heard one night which I’ve tucked away for future use: “Cause a bit of chaos please Brendan”. That’s far too good not to use.