Bobby Moore's legs

It was something my ex-wife said when we were courting? "Oh I love Bobby Moore's legs!" And as a typical self-conscious and insecure teenager, when your girl friend says how much she admires some aspect of another man's physique it can be distressing. Especially with legs like mine! They have always been what you might call slender around the ankles. A condition not helped by years of chronic sciatica and resultant "severe muscle loss." This dramatized explanation, with added mention of "disc removal," plus my stoical attitude always creates the desired discomfort in anyone insensitive enough to look and comment.
And they do comment! None more so than my two daughters and a grand-daughter (you know who you are!) I take it all in good heart though, and with some understanding on account of them favouring their mother in the ankle department. I'd always believed her story that she'd been a ballet dancer until I realised she'd inherited her ankles from her father.
And then there was the girl friend from Southend-on-sea who graciously allowed me a trial at Thorpe Bay Tennis Club. What a bunch of posers! You couldn't get near the bar for bulging bronzed thighs jostling for prominence on the stools. And how encouraging she was! "Couldn't you wear two pairs of socks?" was her so sensitive suggestion.

So it's meant that I'm never one of those that feel compelled to wear their shorts come the first spring sunshine. You've seen them....in their Adidas singlets and Bermudas while the rest of us are still in fleeces. No it takes me up until the longest day, which was about the time of the Outlook bike ride around Pitsford Reservoir.
A beautiful evening during that Wimbledon Fortnight heatwave....the shorts were definitely coming out. And besides the good old boys of Outlook aren't of the stuff to comment on a mate's legs. Except of course for Bill the acccountant. (There's silverback supremacy at play here....more at a cerebral level than testosterone one perhaps!) "First time out with the legs Bob?" he ironically enquired. A quick glance confirmed that his lightly reddened pins had of course seen some sun. "Yes I think opalescent would describe mine" I replied. Adding with a hint of condesenscion "but in time you learn to ignore what others think don't you Bill." We enjoyed a marvellous ride around Pitsford Reservoir. With our shorts, bikes and backpacks we had a pleasing nostalgic look feintly reminiscent of Enid Blyton's "Famous Five." The legs revelled in their first summer outing, and I was reminded of a personal belief that has developed over the years if you can't change what fate gave you...get on with it and be happy. As we completed the circuit of Pitsford Reservoir (making sure I got in ahead of Bill) I noticed that opalescent legs had turned a pleasing hint of parchment. And I was happy to accept I just wasn't destined to have legs like Bobby Moore...bless him!

"...but Bobby still lacks confidence in himself"

.....So wrote JC Howell in my year end report at Old Oak Junior Mixed School in July 1955! 3rd in the final year and with grammar school entrance beckoning thanks to 11 plus success, this as history would show was my peak of academic achievement.... but yes, I lacked confidence!

And events through the subsequent teen years seem to confirm this lack of confidence. Always prefering to pay for cinema tickets rather than join my mates bunking in through the exit door. Attempting to "negotiate peace" when discovering the stranger I'd called "Fatty" was in fact Reg Chaplin one of the hardest kids in town. Wanting to talk about the views from her window when invited into the house of the most fanciable girl in Hammersmith.

Then in later life I learnt as we do that we are our own worst enemy when it comes to facing challenges or fulfilling potential. Came to understand how self-limiting beliefs undermine our confidence. Experienced how difficult things become achievable when you simply adopt a positive attitude.

Then it's "hey...look at me mother!" And I'm out there! Public speaking. Running training sessions. Working the room at business network events. And if honest, slightly enjoying the moment when someone says "oh I couldn't do what you do!"

But like so many afflictions, and self-confidence is one, it doesn't go away. It gets pushed to the back of the mind but can be triggered off by something. Like an invitation to a party.

It was my great friend Miriam's 50th! Of course we would go. But as the day approaches I get those worries about meeting strangers. Think about those awkward social moments.
And adding to the pressure of social acceptance..
we've got to follow a "seaside madness" fancy dress theme.

So I get all worried. Start telling myself that I won't enjoy myself. Have thoughts that are totally self-inflicted concerns. As well as being completely daft!
The evening was brilliant. My "Englishman wearing a bandana in knotted hankie style" outfit was a hit. Contingency plans to leave at "about 10!" went totally by the board, as we enjoyed the company of some lovely people - and met a few interesting ones too!!

So looking back at JC's comments in that school report I do wonder how they may have influenced me in those teen and early adult years? I should have skipped over them to JP Widrig's, after all as Headmaster he had to be wiser. He simply observed "On your own two feet from now onwards!"

I can't walk on water!!

Walked into town today and had to wait up for sometime at Sainsbury's while a heavy rainstorm passed over.

Standing under the outside canopy, I chatted as you do, with shoppers contemplating a trolley dash to their parked cars. I made friends with a waiting dog who found my foot a comforting source of warmth for his shivering wet backside. I was entertained by the Sainsbury trolley "herdsman" who was positively wallowing in the rain and rather like a conjuror producing flowers would surprise shoppers with his folding umbrella.
I endured the secondhand cigarette fumes from the odd puffer, who to be fair would have found it difficult to smoke in the rain! And I listened to the mindnumbing repetitive jingle of the Fireman Sam kiddie's ride.
I think it was the second of these annoyances that made me think that getting rainsoaked wasn't so bad!
And besides, I had seen numerous young people walking past who were happily wet through. They do it all the time don't they. You see them going to school in the pouring rain, seemingly oblivious to the soaking they're getting. I'd always thought it was a mind set thing. A bit of anarchy mixed with the self-belief of walking on hot coals.....or water.
That's for me I thought! Anarchic self-belief!

I was off. Initially at a bit of a jog, until the achilles played up. Then at a brisk walk, albeit a bit erratic because the achilles were quite painful now. 100 yards or so later and after a few strange looks from beneath the umbrellas of passing teenagers, I stopped briefly in a bus shelter. I had to stop. I couldn't see as rain ran into my eyes.

No turning back though and no point waiting either. Over the road, avoiding eye contact with passing strangers in their so sensible rainwear, I strut out ignoring the pain in my achilles.
Fortunately there are no more onlookers to worry about. Who'd be out on a day like this?

Then a car hoots and clearing my eyes of water I can see it's my daughters. Great! They're waving. I wave back. They don't wave again! No... looks like your on your own here matey!! Into the park. And there it was. The ultimate test of immaturity. A huge great puddle! Now I'm beyond caring. Straight through the middle. No looking for the shallow bits, this was foot slapping Gene Kelly at his best.
50 yards from home, a passer-by, with unknowing irony, offers to share his golf umbrella and does look somewhat relieved when I decline with thanks.
Then a final sprint up the street...just in case any neighbours see me, and in through the front door. So I'm breathless, aching and of course very wet...but I'm home.
Now I have to say I shall take my umbrella with me the next time I hoof it into town , but walking in the rain apart.. I won't let a bit of temporary discomfort or curious glances from onlookers ever stop me doing anything!

Out of the mouths of children

During the recent hot spell I bought my two daughters straw hats as sun protection while working on their allotment. I think it was the sight of their sun burnt mother (the "ex") recently home from holiday, that motivated the purchase. I'll resist getting sidetracked here on their mother's apetite for holidays and suntanning....the thing I wanted to mention is the allotment!

Isn't that where I should be heading as an imminent retiree? Are they subconsciously setting me an example of how to behave. Is this an instance of the child becoming the parent? I suspect so judging by their disapproval of my recent antics when chasing after "abusive" motorists!

That's the wonderful thing about Grandchildren. They never disapprove. I took four of them to Warwick Castle during the half-term holiday. We missed the A46 junction on the M6...too busy talking. Hardly a word of dissent during the extra half an hour we added to the journey. The 20 minute walk from the car park wasn't a problem - except for the ones who always tell it as it is! And what acclaim when I waved my pre-booking voucher to one of the Greeters and we managed to "VIP our way in" ahead of the long queues. The day was a great success! My inaugural packed lunch was enthusiastically put away. Responsibility for choosing and navigating us to the programme of attractions was skilfully delegated and readily accepted, and I felt that I anticipated their expectations very well. OK... Maybe they were "very understanding" when the early vantage point I grabbed to watch the jousting was obscured by pushy latecomers! Perhaps they were also "very grown up" about settling for the £4 replica sword instead of the authentic looking £10 full-sized version! And maybe the fun was mine alone as we played "find the lost car" as we returned to the wooded car park!

Heading home, I decided against the slower scenic route via Leamington, electing to turn left and head for the A46 and the M42..... and the first traffic jam!!! This was the customary M42 rush hour fantasy incident and not surprisingly there was some bewilderment as 30 minutes later we passed by the alleged incident?

Picking up speed to 20 mph we were soon on the M6....and quickly into the second traffic jam. We didn't move for over half ann hour and I began to sense growing indifference to my attempts to entertain. Then the day's accumulation of cold drinks had the inevitable effect! Boredom turned to painful anguish. My absent minded observation that we would have been home an hour ago if we'd gone via Leamington didn't help. Then relief all round as the traffic moves and we hurry into Corley Services for further relief all round.

Despite not having moved much in the previous two hours the good old Lexus 300 didn't stop using fuel at a bankrupting rate, so a vital fill up was necessary before we left Corley. What is it about motorway services that gets you so disorientated? Whatever it is, it led me the wrong side of the car pump area. I weighed up the idea of reversing back between exiting juggernauts. Cool? No!! Stupid? Yes!! We went with the traffic, back out onto the M6, and with a near empty tank. Hiding my anxiety well, it was a totally unexpected exit that we made at Coventry in search of a petrol station. The hint of surprise in the chorus of "where are we going now?" suggested that my reservoir of trust and goodwill was also verging on empty. But a refuelled Lexus and a large bag of chocolate eclairs from the forecourt shop soon restored my infallibale grandfather status. Back to a thankfully free-flowing M6 and with no further incidents we were off home to download stories to their mothers of a "brilliant day out with grandad!"

Afterwards, when thinking back on this graciousness that kids generously bestow on their grandparents it made me ask myself - why is it that we have to lose that forebearance towards others? Do we have to mature into sceptical and critical adults who feel the need to offer opinions whether they're useful or not? Should we not try harder to retain the graciousness of children?

Listen learn and look the part!

Great news! We've got the date for our first game of cricket.
Huh?? Cricket??? Not exactly the stuff of rebels for this anarchic OnWeGo blog?

But consider this….
Ever since childhood I’ve had a problem co-ordinating with a moving ball. Heading a football – I’d miss it! Driving to the boundary in cricket – I’d miss it! Returning serve on the forehand – I’d miss it!
I just accepted that if it was moving - I’d miss it. Mind you it never stopped me playing any of these games, and I was so very proud to be picked as goalkeeper for my infant school. This may have had something to do with me being tall. Not that I could reach the crossbar or cut out crosses; as if!!! But I was nearest to fully occupying the goalie’s pullover, kindly supplied by JC Howell our class teacher.
I still vividly remember that claret woollen pullover. I remember how I felt as I put on what seemed like the ceremonial robes of a gladiator destined to die. I can even remember how it smelt, on account of having to breathe through the huge roll-neck collar that smothered my face. Always a handy excuse for missing the shots that whistled past me. We lost every game. Defeats were always heavy.
The aversion continued into later life. 5 years back, a 6-0 drubbing at tennis by a girl friend recovering from foot surgery reaffirmed this lack of sporting self-esteem
So when invited 2 years ago to make up the numbers for the office cricket team, my acceptance was entirely altruistic. The invitation to play again the following year was not earned by previous success, but necessitated by dwindling numbers.

Except that this time I thought... I can do this! I remembered the advice of an old boss from way back, who said “know when you can’t ...and listen and learn from somebody who can!” In this case it was our cricket guru and Company Accountant Bill. “Watch the ball and step towards it” was his advice; advice which I trusted without question.
I don’t normally trust accountants but when on a Company "do" you’ve shared a room and seen a chap in his “Y” fronts, a trust is established.

So there I am, 3rd in. My new white cricket pullover makes a statement of bold intent. Maybe my subconscious was at work, deleting memories of that claret roll-neck I couldn't fill? Watch the ball and step forward: 1st ball…. block. 2nd ball….2 runs. 3rd ball...a glorious 6 over the boundary!! Then another awesome 6!!! 10 balls later I am compulsorily retired on 25 and stride back to a rapturous pavilion.

So bring on this season’s matches! I can play this game now!
It's just a case of listening to somebody who knows how, and maybe wearing the right pullover.

chasing motor bikes again!!

Have you ever watched a dog chasing a motor bike? He seems to be thinking "Right...taunt me will you? I'll have you!! ....just as soon as I can catch you?" And it's that ...will he....and does he really want to question that tends to makes the chase look rather funny.
Just as I must have looked. Happily walking across a side road junction, I get an impatient beeeeep from the car turning in behind me. It happens! But it was the gesture from the dude behind the wheel that sent me into one! "Right...I'll have you!!" and without a second thought I'm chasing after him, bounding up the road like your favourite martial arts movie hero.
"Ah...you're trying to escape" I think, as he screeches into a side road and I follow.
Then of course the brain begins to point certain things out to me. Man on foot cannot catch Mini Cooper. Man on foot chasing Mini Cooper looks pretty stupid. The looks of disbelief of the thoroughly engrossed onlookers confirms this.

Then yesterday I did it all over again! The first outing in 3 years on the mountain bike saw me understandably slowing a bit on the homeward run. No such understanding though from the wannabee Jeremy Clarkson in his open-topped MG Midget, who after passing, offers me that familiar single-upturned-finger wave! Never one for clever instant repartee, I can only wave back in mock friendly fashion, before thinking "No baldy!! (still waiting for some clever repartee) ...you ain't telling me where to get off!" And I chase him! Yes I chase him on my mountain bike (un-used in 3 years) and him in his MG Midget. I didn't catch him!
Yet as I turn up the hill towards home, despite the rasping lungs... and the ironic encouragement from a concerned neighbour...and the burning legs that refused to lift me from the saddle.... I feel soooo pleased with myself. For a minute I had been Segal, Van Damme & Chan all in one! I'd shown him!
Later on, in a reflective moment, I did wonder how often in life we may duck a challenge because we think it's too tough or because we believe the competition is too strong? Because when we do, we miss out on the enormous fun and great satisfaction there is in believing that we can... and having a real go!
We don't always have to "catch the motor bike."

what if?

The quest to learn how to predict lottery numbers continues....and with some early encouragement! Week one of the new “system” sees me £49.60 the richer thanks to the Euro lottery. Week two, and again huge excitement when that tantalising e mail from lottery HQ arrives indicating “Great news!” I prolong the anticipation until Sunday before discovering that the great news is... £4.60!!

But that's £4.60 more than I make from a possible dormant pension enquiry sent to an early years employer, LB of Harrow. Back in 1971 as well as saying goodbye to shillings and pence, I bade farewell to a hugely promising career in local government, and with all the euphoria of my final days I just couldn’t recall what we had done with my accrued pension contributions.
Not a lot! I was given a full cash refund of £563 when I left.
You have to hand it to local government administrators. Their archiving and filing skills are without equal. I was sent photocopied immaculately handwritten records. (We all used fountain pens in those days.) Complete with long-hand calculations showing how they converted pre-decimal contributions into new currency….after two attempts!! And rubber stamped (we all used those too!) REFUNDED IN FULL.
Now I have to admit I did briefly think “What if I hadn't left local government?” “I’d have retired 4 years ago on a final-salary-inflation-proofed pension!”
But I did leave! And over time I've learnt that asking myself “what if,” when reflecting back on past decisions I made, or looking forward on future events that I can’t influence (like winning the lottery,) is at best an entertaining but otherwise unproductive preoccupation.
Add in those other "what if''s" You know, the self-limiting ones that we ask when facing something new or different: "What if I can't do it?" "What if I look daft trying?" ...and you begin to realise what a thought-wasting phrase it is!!
So. What if we stopped asking what if? Maybe we'd just might get on and do a lot more!