Thorneythwaite, January 2011

It's Thursday already. Last weekend I was on a Men's group weekend. This is the blog I wrote at the time.
16th January

'Right, that's it. no more talk of anal probes' Ged declares. Ironic really (I think), because it was him who started it.

We're having breakfast in the cottage at Thorneythwaite on our first weekend away for over a year. Come to think of it we haven't met for months, not since I suggested discussing the viability of the group. Is that ironic too?

Still we're here now. Ged, me and Steve came up last night in the van. Steve's van. As we were driving along the very straight A66 in the dark ('it's a Roman Road, you know' Steve correctly points out), the lights did make it a plausible landing strip. The headlights of the cars in the rain could, I suppose, have been mistaken for Alien UFOs. Why is it always anal probes with these Aliens?'Ged had asked rhetorically. And that's how it started.
A desert thermometer in the kitchen helped to perpetuate the visual image.

The final straw, that morning, was a wooden stirring rod, a definite anal probe.

On our way up on that previous evening in the van, we had listened and chuckled to the news quiz on the radio. After that we confirmed our grumpy old man status by complaining about our children's use of the language. Why use the word 'of' when they mean 'have', and 'lend' when they mean 'borrow'. When did we become grumpy old men?

During breakfast Ken phoned up from Thailand. It must have been night time for him. He sent his love and we sent ours to him.

After breakfast I set off on my own. Why, I don't know. I'd forgotten my waterproofs and got completely soaked. The rain is 'literally' coming down in stair rods, and the water pouring down the roads literally, like a river. Fortunately, the others catch me up in the van. John has stayed behind as he's not feeling too well. They pick me up and drive to Glenrryding. Luckily the outward bound shop is open, and I buy a swanky new pair of dry trousers.

We set off from the car park up the hill. The rain is now even wetter, with a driving wind straight into our faces. Still I'm warm and dry in my new £70 trousers. Tim had promised to take us on a sheltered route. He lied.

We ascend gently and at the top turn to admire the view. The vertical waves of rain and the grey skies do not diminish the strange beauty of Ullswater. We always come to the Lakes in winter as a men's group and miss the multicoloured autumn and vibrant spring. This wet winter view is none the less inspiring and we stare at it for several minutes. It is odd to see Ullswater without any boats, and a grey washed out landscape, like the sky, in need of sunshine and warmth.

The conversation turns to trivia. 'Did you know' chirps up the Gordie Nigel Pargiter, noticing a Puffin badge on Steve's coat 'that Puffins Numbers are back on the increase?' Err, thanks Ged. ' Yes' replies Steve, so as not to be outdone, 'and there are lots of them on Staffa. You can go right up to them, you know'. ' And geese flying to Greenland have more bodily fat than they need' asserts Steve in an attempt to replace Ian as the group know-it-all. Actually, there's no contest, but we have a laugh anyway. We're all still grieving, well I say all, some are still grieving over the loss of Nigel as he fell off the roof with a bloodcurdling scream. 'I'd like it as my ring tone' says Steve sympathetically.

Yes folks, this is my men's group. We've been together for 19 years now. We're not a frivolous group, not always. We talk about meaningful stuff, at least we used to. Like, you know, parenthood and how to be a great father, how to be a loving partner, and the role of men in a post feminist society and response to it's challenges. Yes and we are still apologists for men and make excuses for the behaviour of women. Well I think that's what we did. The wives and partners allowed us to go, as it would be good for us.

On the way,though, we've lost Ian for various reasons. Ken has become a Buddhist monk, and left for a mid-life gap year, or two. Apparently, the Buddha didn't like hanging around for the rainy season so monks have to travel. Ken, or Tan Sucitto which is his Buddhist name, tells us, via the medium of Skype. Sammapatipadarama is his Skype name. It's a hard life, and such a solitary life, poor sod.

After lunch it's time to do our 'task'. Roger says we have to write something, anything, and then read it to the others. What Roger says we do. He's not bossy, actually quite the opposite, but the is the last remaining organiser, and if we didn't do what he says we wouldn't do Anything. In any case we need to do Something. I've brought a couple of pieces that I prepared earlier, but I think I'll read this one.

I know what will happen. I'll come to the end, then they'll be silence, and John will say 'So how's you love life coming on?' Excellent, back to safe territory, and back to anal probing.

Post Script

We actually did deal with some very challenging and emotionally draining stuff, we took risks and worked hard. John and I made up, and the purpose and vitality of the group re-energised and re-established. I think after 19 years that's what it needs. So we did talk about the group's viability after all.