Another day at the coalface! Ho hum. Still, my door-handle is now fixed. For now.
For: The door handles are endemic, said the man who fixed mine. I get several calls a day from people trapped in their offices.
Well, that’s just Splendid.
And lo, after a hard day’s work, there followed… a hard evening’s work. I have now notched up an entire extra day’s work in only three days! Tomorrow, I think, I shall knock off on time. There is only so much of this I can take. Yes, I am well aware that there are people abroad who have to go down mines for sixteen hours a day at a penny an hour or something. My doing something similar will not improve their lives one jot.
Instead, I walked into town to have a go on a trapeze. Woohoo! Well actually, I was a bit nervous about it, but I had googled it and discovered that damned if I don’t walk past that building three days a week so I do actually know exactly where it is, and it is New and Exciting and I am quite tired by this week already but hey, Live a Little!
I found Lirazel immediately, to my immense relief. We scribbled some things on a piece of paper promising that we didn’t suffer from any health problems I didn’t read and, more importantly, promised not to sue if (for instance) we fell off something and died, or hadn’t read the form and had no idea what was on it. Or named them as beneficiaries in our wills, maybe.
Anyway, who cares. We looked at the big impressive lighting rig, all over with trapezes and silks and all sorts and were really rather excited. Then I was really rather nervous again cos we had to wear leggings and vest tops, presumably so we didn’t get caught in anything. I had been wearing my leggings yesterday, cos it was rather cold, so I had planned my outfit and was in thermals. Behold! by the simple expedient of removing my work skirt I was… technically in me underwear in public.
We snaffled our way into the first group, hurrah, and were told we had to do a warm-up before being allowed on the Apparatus. Ha, trapeze will be a piece of piss, I thought as we were made to do five whole press-ups. Right now, I should be doing at least eighty of the damn things, plus eighty of everything else! Ah, the sweet, sweet relief of dogging class!
Me and Lirazel stole a trapeze right at the back, and a very pleasant man in an eye-watering orange T-shirt came along and demonstrated moves on it that we tried one at a time after him. The trapeze wasn’t the highest one – both of us could reach the bar with our fingertips if we jumped, and pull ourselves up to it, though I saw folks on the higher bars who had to be hoisted up on shoulders and so forth. And so we took turns doing a backward roll under the bar and swinging our legs over it, then hanging by our knees, hanging by one knee and one hand, hanging by our ankles with the rope caught over our feet – man, that really hurt – and pulling ourselves into sitting positions on the bar and – for the grand finale – standing up on the damn thing. It did not, mercifully, look as far down from up there as I thought it would.
By this time, Lirazel had gone to find a lower bar, so I managed to end up with maybe a fifteen minute one-on-one session with a whole trapeze to myself. Wow! I didn’t feel so bad about it till I stopped and realised they were queuing five deep for a go on another one. Oops.
Damn good we got a go when we did though, because there were lots of people wanting a free go on stuff, the second trapeze group got far less time, the acrobalance people got a go, well, balancing on each other on the floor, which didn’t look half as much fun as the trapeze and we didn’t get a shot at the silks, because it wasn’t fair to get two shots when some folk were getting none, which I understand. We did, however, get a wee shot on the tightrope, which Lirazel totally rocked.
There was somewhat of a Display after that. The guy who’d been showing us trapeze moves got up with a fantastically slim lassie in a leotard and, after only about fifteen doubles classes, did the most astonishing stunts. At one point he hung by his feet and she just walked down the back of his neck and hung off him and I’m not entirely sure what, if anything, was keeping her up. I mean, if you saw this on the telly you’d probably be demanding something showier, (or baying for it to be five hundred feet off the ground with no safety net) but somehow having real people doing this stuff right in front of you was a damnsight more impressive. Especially given that they pretty much implied And You Could Too (if you had a partner with the strength and indeed inclination to hang from a bar by his toes and suspend you in his arms at the same time).
Especially given that the news not long ago said only three percent of Glasgow’s population are Not Unhealthy (with much emphasis on the, “And you, dear listener, do NOT fondly imagine you are among this number”), and this would appear to be All Of Em.
The acrobalance display was, incredibly, even more impressive. The strength these folks must have! One lassie stood in front of her partner with her wrists crossed behind her back and then did a sort of somersault and ended up with him holding her up, arms straight up over his head, while she made graceful lying-down shapes in the air. Jesus H. I thought I was fit: I am Not.
Also, my standards for a potential partner are now so unfeasibly high (no pun intended) that they pretty much rule out everyone on the planet. Mainly because they consist of, I will find him gorgeous and he will find me gorgeous and we will get on really well and he will be kind and confident and we will Do Trapeze together and look super-graceful, even though the only time I ever managed the splits was one time on black ice on that hill that night and my whole family fell about laughing while I dragged myself to the kerb with my fingernails cos I couldn’t get up again. Yeah.
Well there was one thing I can do, however: stomp four miles home in the pouring rain. Yes, behold, I was finally Intrepid and walked the whole damn thing without chickening out – I cannot afford a cab, and the late busses are alarming with drunks. And I can’t afford the bus, either – and so I got soaked to the waist within the first mile by this car charging round a corner involving a deep pothole. Jesus, it was exactly like having a bucket of ice-water thrown at me, which is indeed what happened. I, er, screamed. Fortunately nobody was about to hear me scream.
I stomped and stomped and got in at half ten, which gave me enough time to manage me emails, stick a loaf on, eat some cheese and sulk. Mainly about the bastard car.
Still a damn good night though.