When I think bowls I think of my 84 year old geriatric grandfather, kitted in his long white pants carrying a musty brown leather case of bowling balls.
I recall, as a young girl having to stop by the greens and give him a message for my grandmother.
The ladies were all old with white grey buns piled up on their heads and their white skirts shining in the sunlight.
It made no sense to me then and in all honesty , it holds very little interest for me now.
As a wife I believe you stand by your husband , support him and encourage family bonding over weekends.
So, when my husband told me his soccer team were going to play bowls I almost fainted …it was worse, they were dragging their wives along.
Try as I might I just couldn’t get out of it and the thought of me and my bad co-ordination throwing little black balls all over a grassy patch was not exactly where I saw myself on a sunny Sunday.
For some unknown reason I thought of bowls as an afternoon sport , you know the kind that starts at 11am.
Nope , we were starting at 9am. Try get a household of 3 boys and a toddler ready and out the house , whilst simultaneously looking like you stepped off the cover of vouge by 8.30am.
Well I jumped into the car , makeup in bag ready to do that en route. Bears shoes were in my hand and the only thing we actually remembered was the bicycle.
Just out the driveway we remembered we needed to take the cooler box, meat and salad …back home.
Then we had to stop to draw money.
Bear with us , we knew we were going for two weeks, could have gotten ready last night but no! Us ever smart wonder parents decided we could get it all done this morning.
We arrived at the greens and even though there was a mass of people it was quiet.
The library kind of quiet , where you feel you should hush or someone was going to rush over yelling at you.
The grounds were a stunning green hue and flowers lined the edges. Cool shade from carefully cared for trees shaded the littering of bodies sitting on the grass.
Bear rambled along the pathway, bicycle wheels turning. Then he made a beeline for the greens.
Surely that was taboo. And so started my rushing to keep bear busy, entertained and off the inviting green space.
A meeting was called , I hardly heard a word of rules and laws and thank yous. I was preoccupied with stopping toddler twins from taking bears bike and ensuring bear stayed in the hall.
It was 9.30 am
I was ready for a nap!
I opted out of playing. Really two of us were never going to both enjoy this game with a busy toddler not allowed to join in. As my husband is a few days short of 50 I figure he’s closer to geriatric than I am so let him play.
Again my assumptions lied to me.
I’m not sure if I thought it was a quick game as old people need to nap but I did not expect the game to last 3 hours.
3 long, exhausting, boiling in the sun, running after toddler hours.
No I did not expect that.
And unlike soccer there doesn’t seem to be a defining half time…
These people keep playing.
At some point I went and joined my husband and tried to follow but honestly it looked like everyone kept missing the little white ball and then they just swopped sides …why?
I gave up eventually and watched my bear play with the cute toddlers who kept trying to steal his bike and who gulped enough of my Powerade to have their mother turn blue.
He also bumped into one of the little girls at his school and they spent almost an hour picnicking with simba chips and Powerade (the only non alcoholic beverage for sale) , running and chasing each other until I eventually put bear down for a nap in his car chair under a tree. (I forgot the pram at home in our morning hustle)
Somewhere the game ended. I don’t know who won.
I do know that whilst I’m sure there are those who truly enjoy the sport , this was too slow for me and I’m no where near ready to slow down to snail pace.