If only you had gone to Spec Savers Sir!

I had the pleasure of referring Buxton Thirds against Ashbourne Fourths on Saturday. For the record Buxton won 19-14 and no one got yellow carded or red carded. Sir kept his hands firmly in his pockets. Well it was a Sunny fields and its blooming cold up there. The Ashbourne scrum half, obviously yearning to give up sniping and living off the crumbs of his forwards and take up the whistle was ever so supportive, telling me every time there was a Buxton error. I thanked him early on in the game and asked him nicely not to. Then not so nicely. Then I reversed a penalty to try and get the message across. It worked. However he then seemed bothered about my time keeping and sought to help me out by asking how much longer there was to go? Every two minutes or so it seemed. That is the rugby equivalent of the child on the back seat of a long car journey asking if we are nearly there yet. Irritating and not at all helpful. As we all trouped of headed bar wards some of the players thanked me. One of the grizzled, scared, seen it all front row; suggested that it was a pity I didn’t go to spec savers. I made a note to keep an eye out for him in future games. I drank my beer and headed homeward. I’m not sure about referring yet. The jury is still out. But it was nice to know that tomorrow morning I would wake up and be able to leap out of bed and not feel if I had spent the night beneath a heavy roller.

Just another foggy day

Saturday morning found me up at the riding school watching the Munch and a couple of others have their regular Saturday morning lesson. It is good to see him getting on so well and enjoying himself. Since he has found that he can ride and ride well, his confidence has bloomed. It wasn't a great day weather wise though. Heavy overnight rain had ruined any chances of our match going ahead, so I was left with the prospect of a Saturday by myself, as everyone else, Mrs BW included, had places to go, people to see.

I turned my back on the riding lesson and looked up at the hills. The fog was seeping down through the trees, and filling all the cracks and crevices with a blanket of grey. The horses that had a few minutes before been visible in the trees on the brow of the hill disappeared into the thickening mist. A thin drizzle started to fall. My thoughts turned to a hot cup of tea and an afternoon spent listening to the afternoon play maybe on the radio and catching up on one or two things. Not such a bad prospect really. Shame about the rugby though, I had been in the mood.

Where did I put those keys?

I woke up in the early hours this morning feeling uneasy about something. I could not remember seeing my car keys. Now I knew that they would be hanging up in the downstairs toilet, or cloakroom if you have had an expensive education. I knew!

But I still had to go and have a look.

Just to check.

Just so that I could go back to sleep. But of course by the time I had got up, put on a dressing gown, we had visitors staying, gone down, checked that they were there on the little hook thing in the downstairs toilet / cloakroom, the keys not the visitors, felt them, ditto (Why did I do that?) I was wide-awake. So I went and made a cup of tea. I thought about going up and asking Lucy if she wanted one. Guessed, correctly as it happens, that that would not have been a good idea, so just made one for myself.

I started thinking about keys. I remembered an incident a couple of years ago. It was a Saturday. It was our daughter Trisha’s birthday. Lucy was taking her into Stockport to do whatever mothers and daughters do in Stockport. I had Alex. He was grumpy because he had to come up to watch me play rugby later on, and that apparently is “so boring”. Alex and I left the house before Lucy and Trisha, to nip into Buxton just to do one or two things. They would be gone by the time we got back. (Stay with me there is a point to this!)

And when we got back they had gone. No problem, I was expecting it. What I was not expecting was to find that in the rush to get off into Buxton earlier on, I had forgotten to take my keys. I panicked. My rugby kit was in side! Worse the team shirts were inside. A few weeks ago there had been a technical misunderstanding and I had forgotten to collect the kit in time for the game. We had to play in Buxton Ladies shirts! No one was amused (apart from the opposition of course. They found it so funny that they lost the game!) I was unpopular. Very unpopular! I seem to remember that the punishment was both painful and public. That’s why I was panicking. I tried Lucy’s mobile phone. Switched off. Well of course I knew it would be, either that or it would be buried deep in some uncharted part of her handbag where it could never ever be heard.

What was I to do? I was on the verge of tears. Alex had cheered up considerably of course offering helpful suggestions, like breaking the window (put the rock down Alex, do it now!)

Sometimes in the midst of panic you find a little oasis of calm. A sort of lull before the total breakdown I guess. It is in these moments that inspiration often pops up and taps you on the shoulder lightly. Mine was tapping away for all its was worth. “What about the backdoor?”

“What about the backdoor? It’s a door, its locked for gods sake!”

Its nothing if not persistent my inspiration.

“What about the cat flap?”

“Oh brilliant. The cat flap! Its about six inches in height and diameter, I am five foot nine, think about it!”

It stayed calm my inspiration. It changed tack. “There is a key in the back door! There is a cat flap three feet below where that key is. You have an arm. Do you see where I am going with this?”

I saw and I was saved! And I was, though it was a bit of a struggle to get my arm through and then get the key out of the lock. It saved me from pain and humiliation though. And all Alex could say was "Dad why were you talking to yourself?"

Sadly I have more stories concerning keys, but maybe I will save them. Leave them locked away…….