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The Allrounder by Ruth Ainley 

It’s good for men to have a hobby.  We women can amuse ourselves all day long dusting, vacuuming, washing, ironing – y’know, all the interesting things that we just long to do of a weekend.  But men, left to their own devices, soon succumb to that terrible affliction known as ‘boredom’ (yes, ladies, even I had to look it up in the dictionary).

So it was that Hubby No. 1 decided he had reached a time and stage in his life where he should explore his latent sporting talents – his very latent sporting talents for hubby had not attempted anything ‘sporty’ since the egg-and-spoon race at primary school.

So, enthusiasm aglow, hubby purchased his first set of golf clubs.  And hubby took lessons.  And finally, one Saturday morning, hubby decided he was ready to go solo… 

Setting the pristine white golf ball on an equally pristine tee, hubby flexed the area of his arm where his muscles should have been, took aim and swung the golf club.  And as club connected with ball, he smiled at the satisfying sound.  And his pride knew no bounds as he watched the little ball sail into the distance.

And the little white projectile sailed innocently along until it finally made contact with the largest oak tree in the county.  And ricocheting off the ancient bark, said ball began to traverse its outward journey in the reverse direction...

At this point, hubby’s heart sank as he calculated the return route of the little white missile.  And the golf ball adhered to hubby’s projected route – and went straight through the open window of the clubhouse.

Luckily, the buxom Lady President was in attendance in the clubhouse and, noticing the impending calamity, rose swiftly to her feet.  With the benefit of a particularly fine set of lungs she proceeded to alert those gathered to the presence of the incoming missile:-

“Fore!”

As the good lady’s voice reverberated around the clubhouse, her fellow golfers ducked as one.  However, our indomitable Lady President failed to heed her own warning and as the little golf ball ricocheted off the tea urn and several bottles of non-alcoholic beverage it continued, uninterrupted, towards the dear lady. 

With a force belying its size, the little golf ball managed to penetrate several layers of tweed, wool and good strong corsetry to embed itself within the Lady President’s cleavage.  And did hubby attempt to retrieve his golf ball?  Nope – it would take a stronger man than he to venture into that uncharted territory…

Golf clubs sold, hubby soon turned his attention to cricket.  And as he strode onto the cricket pitch, resplendent in his radiant white kit, pride swelled within my heaving bosom.  And the bowler bowled.  And I waited with bated breath for the satisfying ‘thwack’ of leather on willow.  And I waited…

As an agonised shriek filled the air, the massed onlookers and I noticed that hubby’s bat had been a little too high – and he’d forgotten one vital piece of kit.  Yes, the bowler had certainly bowled a googly…

And hubby was stretchered off the pitch, eyes crossed, lips pursed…

Several weeks later and hubby was back in the saddle – literally – for hubby had decided to take up cycling.  And I supported him wholeheartedly in his decision for, I must admit, I always offer up a little prayer of thanks when I see a man in Lycra… 

But I digress.  Yes, hubby now stood in the kitchen, fully kitted out, looking like a canary in his bright yellow shorts and top (and as he departed, I was particularly appreciative of that outfit…).

And hubby found cycling very beneficial.  Fresh air, exercise, solitude – he extolled its benefits, placing it on a par with meditation.  And he continued in this vein for several weeks until one day, having freewheeled down a particularly steep hill, hubby rounded a corner and found a sheep in the middle of the road.  As he swerved to avoid said animal the bike careered towards the edge of the road…and a particularly steep ravine.  Quickly applying the brakes, the bike came to a sudden halt – and hubby was catapulted over the handlebars, performing a particularly fine triple somersault mid-air before landing in the uppermost branches of a large pine tree.  Ever seen a Highland canary….?

And now?  Well, I believe Hubby No. 1 still participates in sport three times a week.  Yes, he’s captain of the local dominoes team…