People of our age have an increasing amount of spare time. Finding feasible activities for spending all this coasting may sometimes be difficult. Spare time hobbies that according to an age-old rock-group involve blood, shit, or feathers do not necessarily suit for all of us. So, we have to find some other things that invigorate aging joints, soles, or hormones. Don’t get me wrong, I’m now referring to something that as a side product also provides us or others with something productive. Most of us have probably developed ways to fill those not-so-much-work-related periods, and the “If you have nothing to do, don’t do it here” signs are not for us. In the following, I’ll portray the measures I have tried to take for getting out of your way.
As a school boy, hunting and fishing were the natural means for a young man’s recreation in the semi rural, smallish town where I spent my first nineteen years. I fished mostly with my father and hunted with friends of the same age. Anyway, the both forms of outing sank into oblivion when the capital of Finland, Helsinki, invited with its diversions, which in this case means dentistry and girls. Every two weeks, a kind of semi hobby was to visit home with a bagful of laundry and an empty wallet. Weekend trains, at that time, were full of home going students, and it was possible to practice Helsinki related "diversions" there too. Not that I would have been any luckier.
Already, at the beginning of the seventeen years that I lived in southern Finland, I was infected with squash. Tennis was in my program already before, but slimmer rackets easily lured me away from tennis to the astonishing world of squash. Running, not jogging, came into picture as a side hobby and extra exercise. But then, the first of May in 1986, was a day that made major alterations to my every day life. That afternoon, the first time in my life, I took a golf club into my hands. It was the beginning of a frustrating journey in sand traps, water hazards, bushes, or entirely out. Before that, I had only sliced ham and cheese, at best homemade sausages.
A fairway shot in an enormous bunker, “Q8”. Behind a “brown” you can see sheep and goats, intensively following our game. By the way, do you know, what is the most annoying golf club in a lady’s bag? Well, it is a “bitching wedge”. This wasn’t relevant, was it?
Old sports gear may follow you like lice on your sleeve. Today, I rather have a sandwich than grab a sand wedge. When we were about to move from Kuwait to Norway, I purchased two fishing rods, two reels, and a bagful of lures, dreaming about upcoming fishing trips in the fjords and at the rivers of northern Norway. Now we live in UK, and still I haven’t opened the tapes I tied the rods together with in Kuwait.
In 1985, we moved to an old house in a small town not far from Helsinki. It was originally built after WWII, and sorely needed major renovation. However, there was a wonderful garden for chipping practices. Our nearby neighbour got once almost killed when a stray golf ball broke off the blade of his lawnmower, and the blade split a leg of his trousers. The blade missed his femoral artery, but I didn’t miss a short discussion with him. It took almost two years to finish the renovation, but then in 1989 we, of course, were already moving on, back to the middle parts of Finland. Author Kurt Vonnegut could have said:”So it goes”.
Renovating an old house is a totally awful experience that hardly can be described as a hobby. Anyway, I tried to do as much as possible myself, and stingy as I am, I did. When the work was approaching to its end, I swore I’d never in my whole life interfere in anything like it. The work had required far too much effort, abstinence from other pursuits, and my father-in-law’s back. Some years later, I found myself renovating an 80-year-old house in Montreal, Canada. I suppose, Mr Vonnegut could have commented this turn of mind too.
Our home at Sunnyside 10, Pointe-Claire of Greater Montreal, kept me busy for a summer and the following winter. However, the project was nothing compared to the one in Finland. No ghosts followed with the building when we purchased it. Perhaps, our bargaining was so good that the previous owners wanted to keep them and take them to their new place.
In Montreal, as newcomers to a foreign country, we still needed a sauna. It took a summer vacation to build one. About six years later, when we sold the house, the sauna was an important factor in persuading potential buyers. Now, ten years later, there is no need for a sauna; Kuwait itself was one big sauna, and here in England the saunas are for gay people. Quoting Seinfeld: “Not that there is anything wrong in that!”
Writing these causeries is a practical hobby. Studying the grammar and style of the English language is so confusing that hours pass without noticing. Dry English humour may still be beyond my reach, but I suppose the first apraxic steps have been taken. “Puns” have over time become my favourites. According to the Free Dictionary, a “pun” is “a play on words, sometimes on different senses of the same word and sometimes on the similar sense or sound of different words”. An example:”Show me a grand piano falling into a mine shaft, and I’ll show you a flat minor.” Another pun:”Bugs have very diverse religious views because they all are in sects.” If a pun is based on the pronunciation of words, in its written form a pun may seem odd, but when saying it loud it suddenly starts making sense:” I wanted a car, but I couldn't a Ford one.” If you like them, here you'll find more puns .
Fingers poised over the keyboard of my laptop, waiting for an entertaining enunciation to come up in a Channel 4 sitcom The Big Bang Theory. The cork underlay, looming behind the laptop, is usually tucked between my knee and the computer as the computer gets too hot during vigorous bantering sessions.
At some later point, I had to downgrade running to jogging. However, as my presence gradually absorbed more than necessary amounts of solid energy, even jogging became rather unpleasant. The awareness of all additional elements splashing to and fro provided me with poor balance and self respect. After realizing it, Nordic walking - now we’re coming to the point - and especially stationary bike riding gradually became my everyday favourite. This may sound very stupid after all outdoors activities, but it was so practical, so practical. Playing golf probably was a sort of interlude although I can’t completely factor it out yet.
Literally bloody jogging footwear, as a result of scrutinizing the quality of jogging grounds surface too intensively, utilizing quite an unsuitable part of the legs, the knees. This again was a result of poor balance and self respect.
So, over the past year I have dropped some 1.5 – 2.5 stones off my weight (ca.10 – 15 kg). Not bad, although it also means that all trousers have enough room for a fat cat between my belly and the belt. I hope that the loss of this fast sitting lipid hasn’t weakened my structural integrity. Luckily, I’ve been able to use my 10 – 20 year old clothes that again fit perfectly. Then, what does it take to do all this? It only takes a routine of 40 – 60 minutes on the bike, daily: Perhaps by starting with shorter programs, but by gradually increasing the time of exercise and the spinning resistance. A TV set before your eyes is a marvellous idea. Heartbeat is much more educative if you watch it on a bike. And then, letting the evening and other beers rest in peace in the fridge helps a lot. It is a so called RIP action.
The top surface of my sweat infested stationary bike. Its plastic casing is permanently stained as my sweating often exceeds all likely measures. In another causerie I have depicted all the gauges of this very bike. It definitely is a grand toy.
Altogether, hobbies invigorate everyday life, but may sometimes become even serious enough to generate an independent trade. For me, squash, golf, riding stationary bike, renovation of homes, and writing, have been hobbies suggested by the phase of life. On the other hand, I have to confess that I feel a fraction of envy for those who are able to earn their living by turning their hobby to a job; in my case by sitting on a sofa. Already now, my sofa has taken the shape of my derrière.
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