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I went to pick up my replacement bike helmet this morning. There was no one in the office bit so I just went and picked one up and left again. That's how easy it is to get a bike helmet at Center Parcs. Not as easy as taking one off a bike obviously, but more hygienic. The course of my life now has totally changed as a result of me having to make this trip that I otherwise would not have had to take (and your life has totally changed as a result of having to read about it - but even if you didn't read about it, the domino effect would eventually reach you). I might write a film called "Bike Helmet" about the two different timelines that occurred, one in which I had my bike helmet stolen and one in which I didn't. And it will be so successful that if anyone has something happen in their life where a different course of action would change everything (which everyone has all over the world every second of the day), they would say, "Oooh this is a real Bike Helmet moment".
My rash seems to be working its way out of my body via my extremities, moving from my torso, down my legs and arms to my feet and hands. It's definitely getting better, but the itching is bitch.
Aside from this I was well enough to give Catie another well-earned break from the kids and I took them to play badmington.
I don't think I have played badmington on a proper court for a quarter of a century. On one of my visits to the Melbourne festival Simon Munnery and his wife invited me to play. I had been OK at badmington at school, but that was another twenty years before this meeting and I found I was totally unable to hit the shuttlecock. It was an embarrassment. And at a time when I was a bit lonely and isolated it felt like a disaster that having had some people reach out to me in friendship had gone so badly.
I might have picked it up again a bit, but I was in no way capable of giving the others a decent game. I had wasted their valuable time. I might write a film about it where two timelines are created one where I play badmington and one where I don't and call it "Shuttlecock".
Today, maybe because I wasn't playing against adults who were good at badmington I found it really easy to hit the shuttlecock and we had a fun knock about. Phoebe picked it up very quickly and Ernie who claimed he'd played before at school, but later admitted that he had been lying about that (surely the most pointless and weakest lie ever) also suddenly got the hang of it and was doing some awesome shots.
It was surprisingly challenging and good exercise and I got quite sweaty, but I had the energy to play and it's good to be a participant in life again.
Things fell apart though after Ernie said Phoebe pulled a face at him and he started pushing things over (he knocked over the net and more impressively a heavy bench that I couldn't lift back up on my own). So as usually an attempt at family fun ended in tears and arguments and mild embarrassment.
Maybe badmington is a magnet for embarrassment. Which is why they make you play it at school in lost property clothes if you can't play one of the proper sports.
In searching the blog for an account of the Munnery badmington match (which must have either happened at the 2002 festival before the blog or I was too ashamed to write it down)
I came across this blog from 2005 where I tried to grab the reader's attention with a contentious opening sentence (before reassuring them that I wouldn't ever do such a thing).
Weirdly I have next to no memory of this event at all. It's unusual for me to write negatively about someone who could identify themselves, but I can't remember who the badmington racket wielding woman was or who the famous comedian was either. I have a vague recollection of being annoyed by being hit, but only because the blog has brought it hazily to the surface. So much of life is forgotten. If I hadn't written all this down then imagine how different things would be. Deciding to start Warming Up was a real Shuttlecock moment for sure.
