Today I played squash for the first time in twenty years and probably only the second time ever. Not surprisingly I wasn't very good. I lost every single game, one of them to nothing. My masculinity was challenged. In the sport that is surely the testosterone fuelled challenge, I was discovered to the gamma male on the court. Which is pretty low status given that there were only two of us playing.
But my opponent was cheating. He kept hitting the ball to places that I couldn't get to and then started bouncing it off all the walls so that I became confused and bamboozled by the strange angles. There must be a law against it. Subsequently I have realised that I was also in the early stages of a bout of flu, which totally explains my weakness and confusion and why I didn't win despite my inexperience. Ha ha I am back to being the beta male that I so richly deserve to be.
Afterwards me and the cheat I had been playing against went to the pub for a well earned drink. I was seeing stars by this stage, so I was pleased when time ran out and the lights on the court went out.
We both ordered soft drinks, me a pint of orange juice and lemonade and him a pint of lemonade with a dash of lime cordial. The barmaid seemed confused about how much she should charge. The pub had just had new tills put in and she didn't know which buttons to press. The chubby landlord was eating his lunch and tried to offer advice with his mouth full of food. I stood waiting with a fiver in my hand and my lemonade based drink going flat.
"It's half a mineral, half a juice and a dash" explained the landlord (not realising that he had forgotten the other pint of mineral in his equation). Still we were nowhere nearer getting a price for our drinks. I considered making the joke from teh Simpsons about having to get the bill sent to Nasa to be sorted out (and it would have been original as the context was slightly different), but realised that wouldn't help matters. Finally a total was reached, "It's £2.10," said the girl triumphantly.
"That can't be right," grouched the landlord, seeing his profits floating away in front of him.
Finally the extra pint of lemonade was taken into account and a readjustment was made on the classification of one of the other three elements and the total came to £4.80. I was so anxious to pay at this point that I didn't even query the expense. Let this madness be over, I thought and coughed up my money.
Though thinking about it given that the lemonade was poured out of a litre and a half bottle, which can be purchased at any supermarket for about 80 pence. £4.80 seemed a lot for a pint and a half of the stuff and a bottle of orange and a dash of lime.
Never mind. I made my fortune through writing about a greedy landlord so it seems fair that I should pay something back.
Later, the Squash Cheat (admittedly this is a broad definition of the word cheat, which includes any person who has worked out the tactics of a game to a more advanced stage than me) bought a pint of lemonade and orange for me and a half pint of lemonade and lime cordial for him and the total again came to £4.80. Even though there was half a pint of lemonade less in this order. Which was a shame as had the price been reduced proportionately we would have had a chance of doing some of those simulataneous equations from school and work out the exact cost of a half of lemonade, a bottle of orange juice and a splash of cordial (I think I noticed that the orange and lemonade came to £3.30 if that helps anyone's calculations. I wouldn't waste your time. I think the price of each item is random and dependent on how big a telly the landlord is hoping to buy for himself this year.
In hindsight I realise that it is a shame that we didn't both order a pint of squash. Then we would have been playing squash and finishing off the morning by drinking squash. If we could persuade the landlord to extend his menu a bit, we could also compliment that by eating a squash-based meal as well (you know, using the vegetable squash, which is a pumpkin or courgette or something. I forget what exactly). If this worked out for us we could maybe start up a Squash squash squash club, where all the members liked playing squash, drinking squash and eating squash. If enough people joined and we held the meetings in a small enough room it could then become the squashed squash squash squash club.
Anyone who likes being squashed whilst consuming both kinds of squash, just after having played some squash then please get in touch. All standards of squash player are accepted, as well as all flavours of squash drinkers. And there will be facitilies for people who enjoy being squashed a lot and those for whom a mild squash is all that they are comfortable with.
Remember you have to also like eating squash to be allowed to join. And I will be closely watching people's expressions to see if they make a kind of "actually squash isn't a very nice foodstuff" kind of face. Any people doing so will be banned from the squashed squash squash squash club for life.
I will write to obscure ex-Weekending writer turned TV producer Colin Swash to see if he is interested in being the patron of the Swash's squashed squash squash squash club.
But if he doesn't really like eating squash then he can't join.
I think actually on that count I may have to hand in my membership as well. I love all the other kind of squashes, but that squash is just not my cup of squash.
