Musings of a Mediocre Mother
So, last Bank Holiday Monday found me at the Nevill Cricket Ground watching the 40/40 Kent versus Holland cricket match – yep, a whole country against Kent, and we won! I’ve become quite the sporting Johnny haven’t I? Why all this interest in sport I hear you ask? Well I’m a sucker for a beer tent, the sun was shining, I was picnic’d up and the kids were safe and playing with their friends. Perfect!
If truth be told, I quite like cricket if it’s played quickly e.g. a whole match in an afternoon. It makes it more exciting and with music playing and commentary over the tannoy, it produces quite a party atmosphere. Kent Cricket Club, or The Spitfires as we cognoscenti call them, encourage this via the Spitfire Sweethearts, their cheerleading squad…
Well, those who know me or read this column regularly will have predicted that once seen, I only had eyes for them, but only in an, ‘I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing’ way. Like many young women today, the colour of their faces bore no resemblance to the rest of their skin, although perhaps it was to better match the California Tan hue of their tights. Hair was back-combed, extended and sprayed into submission. And why have false eye-lashes become a necessity when wearing sports attire? I appreciate that cheerleaders have a ‘glamorous’ reputation but surely a more natural look would be better rather than TOWIE extras. And shaking your pom-poms at the crowd doesn’t constitute a choreographed routine, I know, I’ve tried it.
The cheerleader is something we’ve adopted from our American cousins and so I thought I’d take a look at how they do it over there and it is massive. But cheerleading isn’t about the fluffy blonde in a tight sweater pining for the quarter back any more, it is a sport in its’ own right. Successful cheerleaders are offered scholarships to colleges and are sought out by companies once graduated. There are approximately 3 million cheerleaders in America and the industry is worth $100’s million, even boys do it these days. A good squad is amazing to watch, check out Youtube and I’m sorry Spitfire Sweethearts but it’s like comparing Diversity with John Sergeant on Strictly.
Last Sunday morning found me nursing a bit of a sore head. Nothing too unusual in that but I’m looking for reassurance that I’m not the only ‘wrong-side-of-45’ year old to still dance around the kitchen. We were celebrating our wedding anniversary by having a rather lovely meal at home with our children, (well, one of them was there on our wedding day). It ended up with my husband using Spotify to play all my favourite tunes, my kids on pretend guitars and me dancing and singing into a lemon juicer.
I went underground with The Jam, was sexy and I knew it with LMFAO and felt love with Donna Summer. The next morning I went under the duvet, was hungover and I knew it and felt slightly sick. I know it’s not big or clever and maybe I’ll grow out of it one day, but hey, how else is a 48 year old mother of two going to release her inner rock chick?
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