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Authors: Terry Ravenscroft
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serious training.
Before we did this however Mr Barnaby felt constrained to point out that he didn’t actually use a Zimmer Frame - the one he had brought along was his wife’s - and enquired as to whether it was in the rules of the competition that a competitor had to be an actual Zimmer Frame-user, as if this was the case he didn’t want to waste his time training up for the event only to be denied at the last moment. I confessed that I didn’t know but asked him who was to prove otherwise? I also pointed out that the Paralympic Games were over five years away and by then he could quite possibly be genuinely in need of a Zimmer Frame, as indeed might the rest of us. This seemed to satisfy him.
Before we got down to some serious training I added a refinement in the shape of an 8 feet diameter circle, rather like the circle one sees in the sport of ‘Throwing the Hammer’, which I painted on the grass with some white emulsion left over from when we had our bedroom ceilings decorated.
The training went very well, the only problem being that Mr Ross, who is a genuine Zimmer Frame user, fell flat on his face every time he threw his Zimmer Frame. I assured him that this wouldn’t lead to disqualification as the rules stated that provided the competitor didn’t step out of, or in his case fall out of, the circle, it would be deemed to be a fair throw.
In fact it was Mr Ross who threw his Zimmer Frame the farthest. I wasn’t surprised by this, because of his country of birth, the Scots traditionally being very big on throwing things, hammers, cabers, tantrums, uppercuts, sickies and so on. Mr Barnaby wasn’t far behind and I thought it would be interesting to see which of them eventually turned out to be the best thrower. Atkins was hopeless, but this was probably because it took him all his time to keep his face straight, let alone throw his Zimmer Frame any distance.
We ended the session by having a chat about the way ahead and decided to put in for lottery funding, to be taken up by Mr Barnaby. On the way home Atkins and I decided there was no way we could continue without cracking up and decided not to go again, or if we did, to view the proceedings from the cover of the trees.
I had imagined that would have been the end of it but a couple of days later I was tidying up the back garden when the back door opened and The Trouble, wearing her ‘And what have you been up to now?’ expression, called to me. “There are three men with Zimmer Frames at the front door.”
I tried to look unconcerned. “Oh yes?”
“Why?”
I spread my hands. “Search me. Perhaps they’re collecting?”
“Well if they’re collecting Zimmer Frames they’ve had a lot of success. Anyway they’re asking for you.”
I went to the front door. Abreast of each other were Mr Jefferson, Mr Barnaby and Mr Ross. Standing behind their Zimmer Frames they looked like a small football crowd. How had they known where I lived?
“Mr Atkins told us where you lived,” said Mr Jefferson, answering my unspoken question as though on cue. I made a mental note to give Atkins a piece of my mind the next time we met; they’d obviously called on him, Jefferson knowing where Atkins lived by virtue of his once being his milkman before he ran off with the cracker, and were now intent on making me have some of the earache they’d no doubt given him.
“Why haven’t you been turning up for training?” demanded Mr Ross.
“And I hope you’ve got a better reason than Mr Atkins,” said Mr Barnaby.
“Why, what did he tell you?”
“That his wife said she isn’t going without strawberries for five years just so he can go to London in 2012 to make a fool of himself,” said Mr Jefferson. “So what’s your excuse?”
“I’ve decided to switch my event,” I said. They said nothing, just stood there looking at me, obviously expecting me to tell them which event I’d switched to. I thought quickly. I had to be careful; I didn’t want to pick
Before we did this however Mr Barnaby felt constrained to point out that he didn’t actually use a Zimmer Frame - the one he had brought along was his wife’s - and enquired as to whether it was in the rules of the competition that a competitor had to be an actual Zimmer Frame-user, as if this was the case he didn’t want to waste his time training up for the event only to be denied at the last moment. I confessed that I didn’t know but asked him who was to prove otherwise? I also pointed out that the Paralympic Games were over five years away and by then he could quite possibly be genuinely in need of a Zimmer Frame, as indeed might the rest of us. This seemed to satisfy him.
Before we got down to some serious training I added a refinement in the shape of an 8 feet diameter circle, rather like the circle one sees in the sport of ‘Throwing the Hammer’, which I painted on the grass with some white emulsion left over from when we had our bedroom ceilings decorated.
The training went very well, the only problem being that Mr Ross, who is a genuine Zimmer Frame user, fell flat on his face every time he threw his Zimmer Frame. I assured him that this wouldn’t lead to disqualification as the rules stated that provided the competitor didn’t step out of, or in his case fall out of, the circle, it would be deemed to be a fair throw.
In fact it was Mr Ross who threw his Zimmer Frame the farthest. I wasn’t surprised by this, because of his country of birth, the Scots traditionally being very big on throwing things, hammers, cabers, tantrums, uppercuts, sickies and so on. Mr Barnaby wasn’t far behind and I thought it would be interesting to see which of them eventually turned out to be the best thrower. Atkins was hopeless, but this was probably because it took him all his time to keep his face straight, let alone throw his Zimmer Frame any distance.
We ended the session by having a chat about the way ahead and decided to put in for lottery funding, to be taken up by Mr Barnaby. On the way home Atkins and I decided there was no way we could continue without cracking up and decided not to go again, or if we did, to view the proceedings from the cover of the trees.
I had imagined that would have been the end of it but a couple of days later I was tidying up the back garden when the back door opened and The Trouble, wearing her ‘And what have you been up to now?’ expression, called to me. “There are three men with Zimmer Frames at the front door.”
I tried to look unconcerned. “Oh yes?”
“Why?”
I spread my hands. “Search me. Perhaps they’re collecting?”
“Well if they’re collecting Zimmer Frames they’ve had a lot of success. Anyway they’re asking for you.”
I went to the front door. Abreast of each other were Mr Jefferson, Mr Barnaby and Mr Ross. Standing behind their Zimmer Frames they looked like a small football crowd. How had they known where I lived?
“Mr Atkins told us where you lived,” said Mr Jefferson, answering my unspoken question as though on cue. I made a mental note to give Atkins a piece of my mind the next time we met; they’d obviously called on him, Jefferson knowing where Atkins lived by virtue of his once being his milkman before he ran off with the cracker, and were now intent on making me have some of the earache they’d no doubt given him.
“Why haven’t you been turning up for training?” demanded Mr Ross.
“And I hope you’ve got a better reason than Mr Atkins,” said Mr Barnaby.
“Why, what did he tell you?”
“That his wife said she isn’t going without strawberries for five years just so he can go to London in 2012 to make a fool of himself,” said Mr Jefferson. “So what’s your excuse?”
“I’ve decided to switch my event,” I said. They said nothing, just stood there looking at me, obviously expecting me to tell them which event I’d switched to. I thought quickly. I had to be careful; I didn’t want to pick
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