Heroes
My folks and I spent many times like this together and really squeeze maximum enjoyment out of such outings. We try and outdo each other as to who looks the stupidest in a hat, or who can come up with the best ideas or descriptions about the things we have witnessed or observed. These are often vented above the level of normal, acceptable public volume, and together with some really shocking hats, we have received some odd looks in our times together. Of course this just serves to spur us on - and I think even Mom, who embarrasses easily in public, loves these family occasions. She somehow manages to keep us in place as Dad and I compete to see who knows the most people. In doing this she disobeys a fundamental law of physics, as a petite 50kg outweighs a combined bulk of 200kg. A truly remarkable woman.
I've strayed off the topic - an essential requirement to these Saturday morning sessions.
Each one has had at least one special or humorous incident, but perhaps it was the story of the trapese artists and an errant screwdriver which unfolded the most beautifully before us.
A team of trapeze artists had just opened up a display and an informal school in the main square. In short they were really strutting their stuff. Day glow, lycra shorts which came down to just below the knee, long hair and shiny, shaven torsos built for the job. They were cool and confident, and why not, because they were attracting some serious attention.
Their problem was that they were all attracting the same attention, and none of them could rise above the level of attractiveness of any of their peers. They were on the lookout for an opportunity to shine, and in so doing, capture the lion's share of the attention market.
It came in the form of a screwdriver, dropped by a guy at the top who was making some . minor adjustments, and with it went a fair amount of his ego and status in the eyes of the public. With these two assets lying around in abundance, there was a sudden and renewed energy on the ground.
Without the aggression and fanaticism of a rugby maul, but with the same burning desire for the object of the game, the first one picked it up, and held it like a modern day excalibur. He positioned himself methodically, braced himself, took a deep breath along with a careful aim and unleashed a mighty under arm hurl which started from the ground and ended with both feet off the ground. Had he been a little taller, the screwdriver may well have lodged itself in his eye socket, for it went spinning off over his shoulder at right angles to the desired motion.
Unperturbed he sauntered off for a second attempt. Hell, everyone makes mistakes, even these guys, but it's rare that two such howlers are made in such a short space of time. Overcompensating for his previous throw, he let this one go too early, and lobbed it onto the safety net.
He returned to the back of the queue with his tail between his legs, and a previously vociferous adviser took the plate. He was quieter now. Actors call it stagefright. He called it a day after an equally pathetic attempt.
Next up was Mr Brains, who realising that throwing was not the answer, devised a lift system to hoist the object up. The extra wait while knots were tied would surely be worth it. Now, most people know that one side of a screwdriver is quite obviously lighter than the other, and half way up (which was the best effort thus far) the inevitable happened. The heavy end went downwards, which, unfortunately, is what happens to heavy ends, and the light end being suitably thin slipped neatly and comfortably out of the knot, and followed the heavy end.
There seemed to be a new respect for this mystical tool with a mind of its own. The artists held back while passers-by stagnated and began to observe enthusiastically until there was quite a crowd. The object which had somewhat destroyed three healthy male egos was then picked up by a lithe young lady, who scampered quite beautifully up the nearest ladder with the screwdriver between her teeth. This must surely have been the highlight of the day for the screwdriver.
On reaching the top she leant out gracefully and executed a perfect lob - so perfect, in fact, that Granny could have caught it in her mouth even without her dentures.
The guy at the receiving end who was by now very thin on patience and had not even come close to clutching at straws all day, clutched. Clutched so vigorously, in fact, that he missed completely. Clutched again, snatched, slapped, pawed and eventually batted it until, not for the first time, the light end followed the heavy end in a desperate yet successful bid to escape the talons of the catcher.
It got up there eventually, probably only willing if the lithe young lady was instrumental in its journey, and when it did, people applauded loudly. Probably more loudly than if the world's first quintuple somersault had just been pulled off.
There is no moral here, only reflection - but it's reassuring to know that a man who can catch another full grown man spinning and moving and swinging, and holding on only by his knees, fifteen metres off the ground, can't catch a gently moving screwdriver from four metres. Similarly with those who throw them.
What is also noteworthy is that you can amuse or entertain or be amused or entertained when you least expect it, even when you're trying to do the opposite.
But perhaps the most important is the manner in which defeat is accepted. They stood and waved at the crowd as if they had just pulled off the world's first quintuple somersault. They laughed with us at themselves. It turned them into heroes and us into ardent admirers.
