How to be a Good SportIn the last two years or so Mr V's ...


How to be a Good Sport


In the last two years or so Mr V's sporting habitshave changed phenomenally.  There was atime he'd be out on the football pitch, or standing on the fairway, or skiing downslopes participating in much expending of energy.  He still loves these things – but mostly fromthe comfort of his sofa.  Exercise isgentler with only the index finger doing push-ups as it connects with theremote control and flicks between different sports channels.  These days Mr V prefers to be a spectator ofskiers hurtling down slopes rather than emulating them; or verbally assistingWayne Rooney on how to pop the ball between the posts.  And as for Tiger Woods – well Mr V has onlythe greatest admiration for a man whose multi-legovers meant that for manymonths all Tiger's balls ended up in the bunker.
It's a tricky thing to balance when one of youstarts to slow down and the other isn't quite ready to follow.  And so it is, more and more, that I findmyself wandering – as William Wordsworth once wrote – lonely as a cloud as Ipower walk with my aging hound around the village lanes and farmland completelyon my tod.  Fortunately my other outdoor passion– skiing – is shared by my teenage daughter Eleanor.  But for how much longer is anybody's guess. IfHarry Styles clicks his fingers and gives her the nod, then I won't see her forsnow powder. However, at least for now I have somebody to share my chair liftwith as it cruises over snow-capped fir trees and scenery that resembles agiant wedding cake.  There is nothinglike sharing the horror of a black run.  Evenif it is on your backside.
So whilst I'm very disappointed that Mr V isn'tjoining us in Passe Tonale for the next week, I'm nonetheless very excited to havehauled out the suitcases.  Yes, they arestill not packed!  I have, however, whizzedinto Decathlon to make the sort of over-excited gasping sounds some women makein the Harrods January Sale...not the End-Of-Season aisle of a sportswarehouse.
            'Look,' I waggled a cream skijacket at Eleanor, 'look at my bargain!'
            'You already have two skijackets Mum,' she pointed out.
            'But this one is only atenner!' I beamed.
 A bargain or false economy?  I mean, do I really need three skijackets?  I'm a woman.  So the answer is yes.
And having bought all this thermal clobber, a smallpart of me wonders if I actually need it. Only this morning on the school run, I had to pull over and shrug off myjacket thanks to being ambushed by a violent hot-flush.  So here I come Italy, to ski down yourmountains in minus 14...quite possibly in just a t-shirt.
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Published on February 10, 2012 01:47
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