Emma takes to the high seas in the style of Jennifer Aniston, but is reluctant to go down with her ship. That’s what spouses are for, after all!
SOMETHING big, seismic even, happened this week. I didn’t see it coming and it’s literally knocked me over. Wait for it: we became the owners of a paddle board. I would say proud owners, but it would be more accurate to say slightly terrified owners because anyone who knows me will know that I’m not a fan of potentially lethal inflatable objects. I like the sea, I really do. I love the sound of it, smell of it, even the mere sight of it, it’s just that I’m not a massive fan of actually being in it, especially on a blow-up object.
Anyway, it was a chance encounter with a pal that led us to dabble with our adventurous side this week. She alerted us to one of the German supermarkets having paddleboards in their middle aisle and of course, once the smallie heard this there was no going back, and I didn’t have the heart to throw cold water on it.
When we got to said supermarket, we enquired with a member of staff if there were any paddleboards left in stock only to be told they were all sold out. ‘Ah flip!’ I said. ‘Sure look, at least we tried. We’ll keep an eye out for them the next time they come in and now that we’re here let’s just stock up on some pointless storage containers, weird crisps and some cleaning products and we’ll head home.’
Internally I was taking a moment to thank the Lord above for his mercy when I heard the smallie shriek: ‘I found one,’ as she did a celebratory dance probably only rivalled by the person who won the €250m Euromillions jackpot. People were looking at us, smiling, sharing in our joy and with a little audience gathered I could hardly burst the bubble (or the paddle board), could I? It was a real case of ‘pier’ pressure, and off I went to the check-out hauling the board behind me.
Now, the thing is that I’ve always fancied myself as a paddleboarder. I remember years ago seeing a picture in some magazine of Jennifer Aniston on one looking all tan, lean and lasered, and I’ve always figured that ‘yeah, that could be me.’ Like most things, it turns out it’s not easy as it looks as I discovered on our first outing with it that very evening. Fortunately, the beach wasn’t very busy as it was one of those grey, blustery evenings, and there were just two ladies sitting on deckchairs, either knitting or crocheting. It wasn’t long though before the needles were discarded, as we were far more entertaining, pure comedy gold. I was the only one without a wet suit (I’ve mentioned how I can take or leave swimming right?) so I sat shivering, cross legged on the board. That was a bad idea as it’s pretty much impossible to look good sitting cross legged in swimwear when you’re 49 (middle-age spread etcc) and in a moment of extreme disappointment, it occurred to me that there was nothing Aniston-esque about this at all. It was probably just as well that I hadn’t much time to ruminate on that as the smallie was in front of me with the paddle, and nearly decapitated me more than once. My husband had the job of holding the cord and steering us – harder than it sounds as I was screeching at him not to go out too far even though he assured me he was only up to his knees. It still felt perilous – one rogue wave and we were bound for America. We’d be on the news, or the front page of The Southern Star. Imagine! Meanwhile, the smallie was declaring it was the best day of her life, except for the day we got the puppy, and the day she went to Penneys with her pal. It was a board (game) of two halves. All in all, I’d say we were afloat for round 20 minutes, which was probably shorter than the time it took to ‘launch’ us on the high seas. It was a start.
Of course now there’s the pressure to use the paddleboard regularly, or at least more than twice. I’m determined not to leave it to rot in the garage with all the other random middle aisle purchases like extension leads, ski equipment, ash hoover to name but a few. The sort of stuff that’s rarely needed and when it is required, can never be found. So now when my husband gets in from work he can usually find us sitting inside the door all ready to head for a paddle. With him. I suppose I can understand him feeling less than enthusiastic and thinking that we’ve had all day to get our paddle in but sure there’s safety in numbers right? Exactly. And if anyone is looking for some light relief after a hard day, just pop me a message and I’ll let you know what beach we’ll be at. Bring the flask!
In other news out internet is back. Praise the Lord. I have to give credit where credit is due and the engineer who called out was absolutely fantastic and very pleasant, even when I said, in an ever-so-slightly threatening way, that he couldn’t leave under any circumstances until it was back in action. Maybe he has a built-in panic button in one of his side pockets to deal with women on the verge like me? Who knows, all that matters is that we’re connected.
Finally, we’re getting ready to head off shortly on a staycation. We’re Waterford bound. You can keep your Gold Coast, Copper Coast here we come! I’m looking forward to it but also have a fair amount of trepidation that is always felt when staycationing. I’m a realist so I know that we probably won’t get what we pay for, it will most likely rain and at some point I’ll wonder why I ever thought it was a good idea. There’s also a chance that I’ll look at my family at least once and feel an emotion that is not love, and I’ll worry that everyone will get scurvy or rickets or something awful from eating so many chips. But it will all work out in the end. Probably. It’s all booked now anyway so there’s no going back. And obviously we’ll bring the paddle board – we mightn’t actually use it, but sure why ruin the illusion!
