Worth her weight....

Now the Olympic Games are less than a fortnight away speculation is growing about the events which will not be part of the schedule iin Beijing but which may be included in London in 2012.
Top of the list is the 200 metres wife carrying competition.

The North American wife carrying competition takes place next October in Maine. The course includes a water hazard and 39 inch high log hurdles. The winner takes home his wife's weight in beer and five times her weight in cash! Delicate calculations are required to maximise the returns from success against the risks of failure.

It seems that the rules have been modified over time in that the lady in question does not actually have to be the carrying man's wife. Most winners use a technique known as the Estonian carry? And there are penalties for every time the wife is dropped [no doubt administered by the wife as well].

The story is that the event originated in Finland in the nineteenth century where one Rankanen the Robber chose his fellow brigands from those who were best at carrying a heavy sack on their backs over an obstacle course. Rankanen, a kind of Nogbad the Bad character, and his merry men were notorious for stealing the local women.

Now what about the next church fun day for a trial run?

The Burgomeister

Today is the first day of our church Brigades' camp on the Isle of Wight. Over a hundred youngsters and helpers will enjoy the delights of a week in the open air, weather of course permitting.

Mission Team Leader is camp chaplain. She is supported and kept on the straight and narrow by Mrs EB and Mrs Curly G who I believe was given her ticket by well meaning friends as a present to celebrate a recent milestone birthday.

Yesterday I had the chance to discuss the menu for the week with two of the cooks, a pair of Dolphins (!). In the past our girls and boys brigades have camped nearby each other but never together and thus cooking for both sexes will present a special challenge to them and other members of their team.

They told me for example that this year croissants are out (sadly) but cooked breakfasts stay in and as a special favour crisps which have previously been banned for the girls will be allowed across the board at lunchtime.

One tradition at least is sacred. Burgo.

The recipe for this nutrional early morning pick me up is known only to the few and handed down from boys brigade leader to leader through the generations. The leader who is entrusted with the recipe is called the burgomeister and sworn to secrecy, apart that is from the chosen acolyte who will learn the lore of this ancient porridge like subtance in an apprenticeship that can take ten years. Mastering the stirring process itself is no mean feat.

Some say that Burgo was mentioned by Julius Caear in his writings when he came to conquer these islands and faced the Celts for the first time. The nimble Celts were known to hurl a form of Burgo from their slings and to the horror of the Romans their shields melted on contact with it.

I think I can safely say that after a week of this special strenghtening medicine Mrs Curly G can give up any hope of straight hair again.

Happy campers!

In the Dentist's Chair

It all began on Harrogate railway station nearly 3 weeks ago. I was enjoying a packet of crisps when suddenly I broke a tooth. This was a bit inconvenient as I was due to fly to Portugal the next day.

Anyway the break seemed to cause no discomfort but to be safe I asked Teapot to book me an appointment with the dentist on my return. This was a test of faith and courage as I had not been to Dr Drill for about 2 years or so.

So off I went and after some x rays and a lot of ums and ahs I was on the end of two root fillings and crowns and one extraction. What Teapot's dad called in the good old days a bob rip. No longer a bob but still, when all is said and done, a rip! And no matter the tooth is dead we can fill it and crown it all the same. Must be some theology there.

So after round one and minus one tooth I was back today for some excavation of teeth dead and alive. I had to remind Dr D that he had already removed one as he read out his notes and mentioned extraction again. And so to pass the time on as I lay powerless at his mercy I thought about writing this blog.

Teapot had told me that Dr D was definitely one capable of topping the charts in the eyes of the fair sex and it made me wonder if she had a secret thing about men in white coats. I put that thought away just as Dr D injected my face and told me if at any time I wanted hin to stop I should raise my left hand. I was tempted to ask what would happen if I raised my right hand but felt that humour of that kind is best left unsaid when you are laid out before a man with a hyperdermic and an assortment of drill bits.

He then proceeded to whirr away with enthusiasm like he was trying to play a tune with its high pitched whines and low noted drills sometimes fast sometimes slow. And warming to his taks he went on to tooth number two but this time a shorter piece. More a sonata than a symphony if you follow my drift.

I did begin to wonder if dentists have inherited the DNA of the wrack masters of the medieval torture chambers.

Anyway back again for another session in a week or so's time. And in this 60th anniversary year of the NHS of all the services it is the one you can be more or less sure these days you pay for. Paying for the torture chamber! Perhaps I will try to figure that out next time I am in the dentist's chair.