The BMW International Polo match between South Africa and the USA today. Clearly when it comes to stomping down divots, it's the thought that counts...never mind the heels!
Yesterday I purchased my first pair of cycling shoes with cleats. They look very smart, black and chrome and make me look like I know what I'm doing, which I don't. What the shop assistant didn't tell me was that they take a fair amount of getting used to. I liked the reassuring click they made when the shoes fastened themselves to the pedals. I could picture the Champs Elysée already and the finish line in front of me. But of course when I came to an intersection and had to stop, I couldn't get the blasted shoes off the pedals again. It was quite embarrassing to topple over in slow motion, several times I might add, with both feet bolted irrevocably to the pedals. The other thing the shop assistant told me was that when you fall, the shoes separate automatically from the bike. He made it sound like magic. Yeah right.
There I was on the pavement, on the road, on the piste, with my feet tangled in the inner workings of the bike like we were part of the same evil organism.
Then later that evening I spoke to Alex, a relocated Englishman and a competition grade cyclist to boot. Alex is the sort of Englishman who not only looks like he knows what he's doing, he really does know what to do.
"You see those two screws on each pedal?"
"Uh huh." I didn't want to admit that I'd seen the screws but didn't quite know what they were for.
'Just adjust them and you'll be ok.'
There must be a life lesson in there somewhere but I'm much too sore to look for it.
I was treated yesterday to Father's Day lunch at the Johannesburg Country Club in Auckland Park. It was supposed to be a secret but teenagers can't keep secrets. True to form, my children tied fire crackers to the poor creature's tail then booted the cat out of the proverbial bag. Anyway, it was a gloriously sunny day, with good food and a determined pianist tinkering away in the background. There's a family feel about the place and some of the staff have been there, I understand, all their working lives - which is a lot longer than I've been sat behind a desk. It really was a lovely afternoon.
Thank you Bridget
Yesterday, a group of men and women appeared out of nowhere in the field outside my house and begin singing and swaying like they were in church. It was over in less than 10 minutes and they dispersed as suddenly as they had come, each going their separate way. But for the few minutes while they were singing, the soaring a cappella melodies were wonderful to hear.
Here's the link to a really funny article by a newly minted writer who's getting great reviews.
I wandered into a Pilates class yesterday at the gym, by mistake you understand, and was talked into staying by one of the old ladies waiting for the class to begin. I'd never done Pilates before and seeing as more than half the class were women over 70, I thought it couldn't be that difficult. I promptly tucked in my tummy and seized the heaviest weights available. In truth they weren't that heavy, they were more like those cute, brightly coloured dumbbells that a two year old could roll about her playpen with ease.
The instructor came in right on time, tall and blonde and with a name to match. Chantal. "If at any point it gets too heavy for you," she said," just put the weights down." Yeah, right. What followed was the most excruciating hour I have experienced in my life. Those cute little weights seemed to get heavier and heavier until I had no choice but to put them down. I should have set up my mat at the back of the class, all the women were doing just fine - even the one who'd left her walking frame at the door.
"So how was that?" they asked me afterwards? I was the new guy so I must have something to say. They were kind enough to wait until I'd recovered somewhat. I'm going back tomorrow.
"If this is the dream God has placed in your heart, who are you to doubt?"