CRICKET……. A BIRD’S EYE VIEW

So here I am at Edgbaston, first day of the third Ashes test, hoping not to feel crippling humiliation once again at the hands of the Aussies. Weather looks hopeful, beer and in my case gin and tonic is already flowing, we have a picnic of pork pies and scotch eggs and my teenage crush David Gower is crooning in my ear from the radio. But sadly it’s all a bit blokey as all the girls bar one have cried off. Why, I ask myself when really, watching cricket is the perfect way for any woman to spend a day

I appreciate that the game can be a little confusing and that Test Matches that go on for five days and still end in a draw can seem a tad pointless, indeed watching your team play cricket, especially if you’re an England fan, can be agonising.  Often its a bit slow and a bit boring but occasionally we’re served up a frenzy of excitement, success and unbridled joy. Unfortunately it’s usually followed by a large helping of disappointment. It’s a bit like the roller coaster of life and the realization that I was never going to marry David Gower.But let’s not dwell on the negatives as positives there are a plenty.

Well  it’s a far cry from Ibiza I hear my friends say, but girls, what could be better than sitting watching 22 athletic young men  fully clad in white, strutting around and throwing themselves into danger on a field all day, occasionally  rubbing their nether regions and getting themselves all grubby. Men who not only do lunch but do afternoon tea as well.

And that’s just for starters . Let me tell you girls, you are seriously missing out if you think a day at the cricket is a day wasted. Ok, the sun doesn’t always shine, but if it does, you can top up your tan, drink, eat  AND talk while play is still going on. You can heckle, verbally abuse and intimidate  the opposition, which is especially enjoyable when a lone Aussie fielder, isolated from the pack , is within earshot. An added bonus if it happens to be Mitchel Johnson. You can dress up, dress down or wear fancy dress , nod off, read a book  or not watch the game at all and still have a really good time.  Fabulously the ratio of women to men (according to my pal Sal’s scientific analysis) is probably about 25 to 1 (admittedly 20 of them will be over 40) and it’s the only event where there is no queue for the ladies but satisfyingly  the mens queue  goes on for miles. And it really doesn’t matter if you have no idea what’s going on or understand the cricket chat because terms such as middle stump, fine leg, a good length,  sticky wicket, full toss, ball tampering, in swinger and hand action will always raise  a  pathetically infantile girlie giggle.

So fair maidens, get thee down to the Cricket  and let yourself be bowled over by this wonderful game for as  I finish writing this at the end of a brilliant day, I am tired, happy, full after a fabulous curry and a little bit tipsy from too many Pimms.  Best of all, England played a blinder and their fans will go to their beds tonight, thanking God and praying that they don’t stuff it up when they return to resume battle tomorrow.  Girls, it was a fine day out.

Whose Crisis Is it Anyway?

It will probably come as no surprise that my recent spate of gallivanting has  raised a few eyebrows and there are, of course, mutterings that I am obviously going through some sort of mid-life crisis. I had, in fact, thought this myself but as the pitying looks and concerned advice seemed to indicate that this was something to be worried about and dealt with sensibly, I began to ponder more deeply on the whole issue.

According to Wikipedia, mid life crisis occurs between forty and sixty as the realisation starts to dawn that you are in fact going to drop dead one day and that the number of years left for enjoying yourself has suddenly dwindled quite significantly. So some awakened individuals start to say, hang on a minute, I have dedicated the last twenty years to bringing up my lovely kids and husband, I may not have another twenty years, I’m still fit and able so lets party! Lets write a list of all those things I’ve wanted to do but never had the time, lets stay up all night in Ibiza, lets play music loud and sing in the car even though its just sooo embarrassing, lets have a few drinks on a school night and stop picking boxer shorts up off the bathroom floor. Lets not care if I forget to put the bin out because I was too tired from watching the sun rise and lets start saying yes again to new adventures rather than no because its too much effort.

And what, may I ask, is wrong with that?

The definitions of the word Crisis are as follows: A time of intense difficulty or danger, a time when a difficult or important decision has to be made or the turning point of a disease when an important change takes place indicating either recovery or death. I particularly like this last definition, for my current  conclusion is that the term should actually be applied to those NOT going through a mid life crisis, as the person supposedly going through the crisis, is actually having a whale of a time and enjoying a complete and full recovery from the relentless uphill battle of child rearing, running down the other side towards freedom with complete and utter abandon.

The real crisis, in my opinion, lies in the fact that those who are the  most critical are usually the ones who are the most afraid, shuffling slowly but surely into their twilight years opting to go out with a whimper rather than a whoop.

So please don’t worry about me darlin’ I’ll take the crisis any day