Or is it Simply that I’m a Woman?
I try to understand the jargon. I try to keep my eye on the ball without reverting back to my book (whether I am ‘lucky’ enough to be watching cricket in the flesh – that’ll happen when one’s father-in-law holds a position at the county cricket club – or stifling a yawn next to my husband on the sofa), but it’s like Mission Impossible. My mind goes off into a world of its own. I couldn’t tell you who hit the ball, let alone who is winning, how many wickets or what an ‘over’ is.
Yes, cricket puts me in a trance. But to be fair to cricket at least it’s a summer game… and with that there’s always the promise of a fat Pimms and Lemonade to aid the boredom. No freezing one’s backside off in a stadium full of rugby fans on a crisp winter’s day, the only joy emanating from a hot pie and polystyrene cuppa necessary. So the grass is definitely always greener with this more laid back of the male dominated sports, and yes I am referring to the fact I can hold an alcoholic drink when it comes to cricket, definitely not the colour of the pitch…
But it’s not just cricket. I am like this with football.
‘Who’s scored?,’ my husband will yell from the kitchen where he is probably fixing himself up with another beer.
‘Ummmm,’ I’ll reply, eyes glued to the screen but somehow not capable of taking in an iota. ‘Ummmm. I don’t know. I didn’t notice anything happen…’
‘You what? I can hear the roar from the kitchen and you mean to tell me you haven’t spotted Man U have scored a goal?!’
That’s the usual dialogue when it comes to the nation’s favourite male viewing pastime.
But it’s not just sport. I am like this with computers and technology.
Don’t talk to me about your SEOs, your emoticons, your servers and definitely do not talk to me about your dongles. Because in one ear and back out the other they’ll go. Not on purpose, it’s just your talk about Java may as well be in Japanese.
But it’s not just computers and technology. I am like this with D.I.Y.
I glaze over like the surface of one of Nigella’s cakes when my Dad proudly reels off the processes involved in his latest home renovations project. I am polite. I just about manage to nod and smile encouragingly in all the right places. I even ‘um’ and ‘ah’ at the impressive steps he has taken to build his new shed, but ask me to summarise the dialogue five minutes later and I’d find it simpler to memorise a passage from Chaucer.
It would appear on the surface that I am a wholly stereotypical stereotype. Until you consider this:
– I don’t find female comediennes funny. At all. No, give me Russell Howard, Lee Evans or Michael McIntyre any day. Sorry Sarah Millican, but you try too hard, Luv. And it shows… I am with you on the High Street attire you chose for that premiere you went to that caused all that furore though. Nicely done. Very nicely done.
– I love all things petrol head… (and the smell of it, okay, I know that’s not exactly the ideal perfume to get hooked on…). I love the roar of a car engine. Top Gear was my favourite ‘boys’ programme and I must have cried a river when it all went tits up because Jezza took things too far.
– I love the sound of a drill, the hammering of nails and the swish of a paint brush
– I adore the smell of creosote, varnish and gloss (as above, I am not encouraging anyone to make that a habit!)
– I am a hot and spicy afficionado when it comes to food. Heck, I have been even known to handle my jalapeno peppers better than Lady Lolita!
– I drink Whisky
– I wear jogging bottoms (sorry Eva Mendez) most afternoons because it’s more comfortable when the kids are home from school
– Oh, and I am partial to watching the darts… Well, it looks so much more fun than the rest of the ‘male’ sports, doesn’t it? Uplifting entrance music, players giving themselves funny names and making hilarious dance moves as they make their grand entree, fans drinking and holding up ‘Hi Mum!’ placards. What’s not to like?
I don’t exactly know many women who tick any, let alone all of the above boxes… or who necessarily want to. But perhaps you do? And I encourage you to share your wholly un-stereotypical examples with me. The world needs more un-pigeon-holable women!
So I guess this blog is just about me observing, well, me.
And now my Pimms glass is empty and someone has just yelled ‘Howzat?’ Well, that would be pretty obvious d’oh, because… your game of cricket puts me in a trance and I had to turn to the alcohol…
