Diary entry of an Englishman in Barrhead. Date: Friday, Jan. 6.
Went curling today. No, scratch that. Went to see curling with Dennis, pet name for my cranky camera. Heard of Dennis the Menace, the comic strip character who doesn’t always do what he’s told? ’Nuff said.
So curling, what is it? Lacrosse on ice? Skaters on a rink whirling sticks – ones which curl, presumably – as they scrap to put a ball in a net?
Didn’t bother googling before going. Pretty silly, I suppose. Just turned up at the rink to find cleaning crew piling in with brooms ahead of me.
Distinguished looking guys. Seniors, mostly – the jolly sort that are everywhere in Barrhead.
“Tricky, isn’t it?” smiled one.
Man was ogling my “one big toe in front of the other” ice routine outside the Agrena. All done in slo-mo, of course, as Dennis banged my side, trying to make me slip and look even more ridiculous.
“Makes life exciting,” I sniggered.
Wanted to ask where all the helmeted athletes were with padded shoulders, curled sticks and menacing expressions, but refrained.
Inside the foyer, recognized two people from volleyball. Great! Familiar faces to ease first curling night nerves.
“You’ve got nothing better to do on a Friday evening?” said one. She sounded terribly loud (or was that my paranoia?). “This isn’t serious, you know? It’s recreational.”
Actually, I didn’t have anything better to do. Embarrassing really.
“Just taking pictures.”
With Dennis, I felt like adding.
Looking around, spotted cleaners everywhere – both sexes and all ages, sixty somethings to schoolkids – and they were clambering into the rink, very pumped up.
Hang on a sec, was this that curious game on TV, a bit like bowls, a bit like shuffleboard, but with brooms? This should be, um, sort of interesting.
Ice caught my eye straight off – honeycombed, like polystyrene, and much, much friendlier than yukky stuff on sidewalks. On it were coloured rings resembling dartboards, plus loads of doughnut-shaped rocks.
Finally, action!
Thought I would catch on quickly, but these folk were too polite, too quiet, it was hard to distinguish good throws from bad, so no decent clues. No swearing, no cheering, no coach on sidelines yelling, just plenty of conferring and intelligent looks. Some dead mean looks too. What was going on there?
No prizes up for grabs so I created my own. Started handing awards to throwers with the coolest action.
Plenty of candidates, some sliding a quarter of the way up the lane. So graceful, so slinky it made me think of … wild cats. That’s right, stealthy felines.
Favourite was woman who got horizontal with the ice, using strange contraption. Super cool, she looked – cool as a stalking tigress. Then that fellow on the far lane was pretty neat, like a prowling panther. And what about the man with the big moustache? The lion.
Suddenly I saw creatures everywhere. And witch doctors too, busying themselves with travelling doughnuts, sweeping the ice as if performing an ancient ritual, warding off evil spirits.
This had got kinda fun. Like hallucinating.
Will I ever go curling? Maybe, but if I do I want to be a tiger or panther, or any long-limbed creature good at loping, stalking and pouncing. Sweeping would be awesome too, but what if I brushed a doughnut?
Best practise technique first. After all, it’s good to look cool on ice, isn’t it? Yeah, even Dennis agrees.
Tomorrow must find a full-length mirror.
