17th JUNE 2017
Welcome to my world, won’t you come on in.
Each day of each week I make a major life challenging/changing discovery. This week it has been the coordination of feet, legs, hands and arms in conjunction with plastic balls.
Last week when I was talking to Ewan I was a little disappointed that after I had taken the trouble to please everyone and learn to walk, Mum banned us from the Lake District, so I ended up wondering what was the point of learning to walk?
But as I have learnt in life move on. Stay positive. As Grandad says to Mamma when they are out walking and she begins to chunter: “It’s only a hill get over it.”
I knew something positive would come from it and it did. I have discovered, wait for this, I bet it will shock you as much as me, football is not just a programme on TV like Teletubbies, Bing or Twirlywoos. It is a real game and you can play it and enjoy it. Apparently there are football skills but because Dad only watches Liverpool and England matches I had not realised.
I have one mummy, one daddy, one sister (that’s one too many), one nanny, one mamma but two grandads. The reason I have too grandads is because grandads are brilliant, you can’t get enough of them and you can’t have too many.
One of my grandads supports a brilliant football team who win loads of stuff and have lots of skills and he is good at football and golf, which I will come on to in a moment.
My other grandad hates any ball games (any games even) and is rubbish at football, and has never even played golf. Can you imagine that, not ever playing golf?
This week I have discovered my goal (I used that word on purpose! That’s maturity for you) in life is to become a No.1 football player.
I realised that now I can walk, I can run. Apparently you have to walk before you can run. But now I can run when I kick my ball I am more accurate where I kick, I kick harder and kick further. Also I have a good book about football. It is one of the very best books. It is not a cheap adult one that is based on boring blandness and meaningless written words, it is lively, made of board with buttons to press for unbelievable sounds.
One of the sounds is the cheer of the crowd when a goal is scored. I get Sister Freya to press that button when I kick the ball and the feeling inside me is euphoric. I find it to be the best, most exciting feeling in the whole world on a par with the feeling I felt after the stressful journey to get into this world.
The feeling I get just proves that I am born to be a star football player.
That and the way I dramatically fall to the floor screaming if anyone takes the ball away from me. Everyone says I am a natural.
Another reason I am destined to be a star football player. And the third reason is I have no respect for money, I just treat it as a throwaway commodity. There is plenty more where that comes from. So football’s my destiny.
On top of that golf comes naturally to me too. I have never been to a golf course in all my one year of life, yet I knew I had to use a golf club to hit a golf ball and I know what a golf ball is to hit. And I hit the ball in a perfect straight line
Grandad Robinson has no idea. He used a golf club to hit a football. I despair. He’s no grandad of mine.
But Grandad Robinson does give me credit and says I am a “chip” off the old block. He says that’s a pun. I’ve heard of birdies and eagles and a hole in one but I don’t know what a pun is.
But again I am a natural and you have to be able to walk good to play golf. Another good reason for walking.
I think I am convinced. Walking is worth it.
I just need to change subjects for a short time now.
A man is not a bloke until he has his own shed. That, like football and golf is part of our DNA and dates back to when men had their own caves.
Grandad Reed has one. Dad has only just got one. He’s a bit late getting one, it took me to come along and force him into it. But Grandad Robinson hasn’t got one.
Do you see the pattern forming here:Grandad Reed has a shed, supports a solid football team, plays good golf and football. Dad just got a shed, supports a mediocre football team, plays average golf and football. Uncle Ian has a shed, plays good golf and football. Grandad Robinson has no shed, supports no football team, plays no golf and football. I’m afraid it does not take an expert to work out the correlation.
My toys now fill Dad’s Shed. That is mine and Dad’s Shed. Father and Son Union HQ.
But you should have seen the pavlova building it. (Sorry I mean palaver). Three of them were needed to build it and an audience of three, Mum, Nanny and Auntie Jayne to give strength and moral support. I say this with tongue firmly in cheek.
The shed came in seven pieces, plus window and door. 10 minutes a piece, that’s 70 minutes but let’s say two hours to give room for error. Child’s play. A13 month old (that’s me) could do it easily.
They started at10 o’clock - 12 o’clock, not finished, 2 o’clock not finished. 4 o’clock you’ve guessed it. Finally 5 o’clock – 7 hours later they are about there. But, wait for this, in the wrong place. In the middle of the lawn and it should be by the side of the house.
Anyway, alls well that ends well or something like that, and now me and Dad have our own shed where we can go and talk man talk, man to man.
And finally a question: On Wednesday last it was Sister Freya’s Sports Day at her Nursery School. I was not invited, and not allowed to go to it. Nor it appears was Dad or even Mum. But Mamma and Grandad Robinson attended as honorary guests.
Here’s my conundrum (that’s a word instead of question – using the word ‘question’ so much gets so monotonous). If it was Sister Freya’s Sports Day why send Grandad Robinson who ranks as the least sports oriented person on the planet let alone the universe, when there is me and Dad who are brimful of sport and sports experience? Wouldn’t it have been more appropriate and sensible and better support for Sister Freya for us to go?
As I get older I find life filled with more and more complexed oddities and conundrums where there is never nor ever will be a sensible answers. But they add to the mysteries of life which does make life brilliant, amazing and exciting.
I’m not sleepy, I’m bored with typing so I’ll leave you that last conundrum to ponder upon.
As Ewan says: Bye, Bye – George.
©2017 www.jeanniejeanniejeannie.co.uk – Phil Robinson
When I was a lad at school around 13 years old, our Maths teacher used to call me Wol. At the end of the year as we were moving up a class I plucked up courage to ask why he called me Wol. He told meit was thename of the deslexic owl in Winnie the Pooh. With my Harry Potter glasses he said I looked like the Wise Old Owl in the Winnie the Pooh stories.
Being the vain person I am I took it as a compliment
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