Monday, 10 August 2015

The Hobbies That Were - A Rant

Today, as my husband left me with an overtired screaming child to pursue another hobby, I got to thinking  about the hobbies that have been tried, tested, spent on and then forgotten over the years I've known him - a not too princely 9 years and two months.  All the money spent on having all the gear but, ultimately, no idea.  All the time spent online and in forums to get the latest know how.  All the energy wasted.

So, here goes, a run down of the hobbies that were.

Ah - the first, the original, the one he took up when I first knew him.  Most (normal) people would think to themselves 'A new, rather dangerous, tricky sport that I can only do a handful of times a year, and one I've never tried before.  I might not like it, might not stick to it.  Must hire, not buy....'   Noooo, not him.  He hot (cold?) footed it right down to the shops and spent the best part of his monthly salary on boots, bindings, boards and associated apparel to hit the slopes in Andorra with his mates.  Literally, hit them.  He came home with a torn something-or-other on his knee.  He spent the whole time enjoying the apres ski and never hit the slopes again.

Enjoying apres ski with his broken knee.  In his pants.  On a table.  Well, at least he didn't break his spirit
This one was short lived.  He decided he wanted to play golf.  Asked me for lessons for his birthday.  He still hasn't gone.  I live in hope that the third year he has the vouchers will be the year he uses them.  They say hope isn't a strategy.

One of the more recent hobbies.  He ran a few times, decided he didn't have the right gear (and there I was thinking legs were the pre-requisite and he has two perfectly fine, in fact rather sexy, legs - see above) and again, hit the shops, then the road, then the sofa once the mother of almighty blisters appeared on his foot.  The shoes he spent the best part of two hours choosing, on and off a treadmill with a camera trained at his over-rotating ankle gave him a fecking blister the size of Wales.  Trainers, bright yellow running top (lest he not be seen by the man on the moon) and double skin socks resigned to the back of the wardrobe.

Fish Keeping
Yes. Fish Keeping.  Of them all this is the absolute worst.  It sucks money from your pocket, temper from your tantrums and sanity from your brain as you try and get the God forsaken PH level right so the little fishies don't burn alive in a watery grave and the tropical plants don't go brown and sludgy.  There were shrimp that were meant to keep the tank clean.  They failed.  Then there were snails to keep the tank clean.  They multiplied.  Then there were assassin snails, who were, frankly shite at assassinating the millions of tiny snails that were appearing every day.   There was military precision in the amount of food to go in the tanks.  There was cleaning to be done.  Tantrums my three year old would be jealous of were thrown when the new back drop Just. Would. Not. Go. In. Right (it was epic).

Then there was The Death.  The fish who got poorly.  It upset him so much he nearly cried when asking me to get some clove oil (it commits fish murder -  who knew?  I thought they just went down the loo).  Such a sorry sight seeing my 6'3" husband crouching over the measuring jug of water and clove oil and this little fish floating upside down, with the saddest look on his face (my husband, not the fish).  He failed his responsibility to keep this fish alive.  I really felt for him.  I did, truly.  It brought a tear to my eye.  I got over it.  Not sure he ever did.

So when we moved house the fish were sold and the tanks emptied and they were put into the shed in the new place.  I sighed a sigh of relief.  No more spreadsheets detailing the exact measurements of each tank daily.  No more money spent on stupid little tools to help him keep the fish.  No more Sunday night dramas as we can't find a fish (yes, we lost one.  It got stuck behind the decorative backdrop).

But it's returned.  One of the tanks has been resurrected.  It's got water in it.  It's cycling.  HE WENT TO THE SHOP FOR BOGWOOD.  He scoured the beach for the 'right' stone.  Kill me.

But I shouldn't complain too much, at least this is one hobby that's lasted longer than a weekend....

Luckily, cheerleading didn't stick either

For completeness I shall list other tried and abandoned hobbies.
  • Cycling (bike bought ridden twice)
  • Star-gazing (telescope bought, looked through twice. That Brian Cox has a lot to answer for)
  • Photography (camera and lens bought. Used on holiday.  Resulting pictures worse than those on my iPhone).
  • Skiing (yet more unused lesson vouchers.  These are now 18 months old).
  • I know there are others... I'm choosing not to recollect them right now.
UPDATE!!!  A mutual friend of ours just reminded me of another.  Beer making.  That sodding keg sat in my downstairs loo for months before he cracked open a bottle of the brew, took one swig, winced and declared it 'lovely.... but needs longer'.  Never touched the stuff - the beer or the making aparatus - again.  Resigned to the shed.  Again).
Tell me I'm not alone - any tried and abandoned hobbies in your household?

(Col - if you're reading this, I love you, I do, and I love that you're a trier and passionate about the things you take on.  Just try not to kill anymore bloody fish).

Linking Up With
Baby Brain Memoirs
The Twinkle Diaries
Best of Worst
Modern Dad Pages
Modern Dad Pages

My Random Musings
Super Busy Mum
Friday Frolics

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