And of course Henry The Horse dances the waltz, a tangle in three-time
HERE’S a line somewhere, in some song, about a waltzing horse.’
‘Eh?’
‘Imagine a big four-legged creature moving in threetime.’
‘It certainly sounds more than a little unlikely.’
‘Poor old Dobbin going one, two, three – then what does he do with his fourth foot? Or fourth hoof, even.’
‘I’m sure I do not know.’
‘He’d be in a tangle and never make ‘Dancing with the Stars’.’ ‘Medders, what is all this blather about?’
‘Well, I know I’m not a horse – or a dancer for that matter but I was just thinking that maybe I am a little bit out of step…’ Or even a big bit out of step.
I am certainly out of step with politics. After a lifetime of havering and wavering and wobbling, I finally declared myself a Labour voter, no longer a floater or a flip-flopper. I even sat our two bemused children down and told them solemnly that their father was a Labour voter. Labour scored highly for common sense and decency, I counselled, while they should overlook Brendan Howlin’s growing pomposity.
This statement of voting intent to follow the Red Rose came in time for the General Election of 2016. That was the election when Labour plummeted from 33 seats in the Dáil down to having just seven TD’s. So much for the Medders endorsement. Worse followed earlier this year when, despite my steadfast support, a further trimming ensued. Our Eldrick and young Persephone are members of a generation which is favouring Sinn Féin to the virtual exclusion of all others. I shall stick with Labour but the omens are not good even though the pompous Howlin had been replaced by a smiley-faced Howlin. Too late, I fear.
Aside from the politics, I am also radically out of step with modern dietary trends. In other words, I eat the wrong things. It’s a wonder I am still alive.
I love kippers – too much salt. I love marmalade – too much sugar. I love peanut butter - too much fat. I love lamb – too much cholesterol. I love tomatoes – too many sprays used in their cultivation. I love pineapples – too many air miles. I love bread – too many carbohydrates. And it is not just bread. Hermione earnestly explains how gorging on bread, or potato, or pasta is most ill-advised. The body converts all that starch into sugar. Overloading on sugar, she warns grimly, is a sure-fire recipe for diabetes and all manner of other life-shortening conditions. I am reduced to snacking on cucumber with yogurt – low fat yogurt – at least whenever Hermione is looking.
Aside from the politics and the food, I am also way out of step when it comes to technology. I refuse to pay a premium price for an over-rated American brand of smart phone. So many acquaintances have sold their grannies to scientific research or taken out loans at exorbitant rates of interest in order to pay for a phone named after fruit.
In vain do I tell them to follow my lead and invest instead in a Chinese brand with an unpronounceable name at a quarter of the cost. They ignore insistence that my cheapie phone is every bit as good as their luxury priced one. It has to be every bit as good, since the Chinese are the manufacturers of both and they ripped off much of the know-how which goes into their products from the Americans.
Aside from the politics and the food and the technology, there’s the sport. I find myself way out of step with the majority of my middle-class friends who find rugby more compelling than soccer. It would be bad manners to say out loud that I find the unrelenting bish-bash of rugby with its talk of ‘line-speed’ and ‘off-loads’ and ‘physicality’ often tedious. But I think it. Give me a game with genuine world wide appeal, which allows players occasionally to be subtle as well as strong and skilful…
Ah, I remember now. It’s the Beatles. John Lennon at his most surreal. It’s a Sergeant Pepper special from the lyric of ‘For the benefit of Mister Kite’: ‘And of course Henry The Horse dances the waltz.’ Just call me Henry from now on.