How not to get a good night’s sleep
A few months ago, we had a call to say that my grandfather had taken part in a homemade electrocution, so we went round to see what had happened. His opening statement was ‘I got into bed and lit up like a Christmas tree’ which I believe translates into ‘sorry, I think that what has happened is that I somehow got a severe electric shock’. After some investigation, I found out that someone had moved his cast iron bed so that it had taken a place up to a plug socket housing a bed side light’s plug that may or may not have had wires hanging out of it.
How not to prepare for a shoot
The other week, he and I went to a small, neglected part of his shooting on Wykeham estate. Bearing in mind that he hadn’t visited this place for three or four years, he thought it would be a good idea to lay down some pheasants ready for the upcoming shooting season. He started by looking for some feeders he had scattered a few years ago. There were plenty to go at but no – he wanted one sat at the bottom of a fairly steep embankment. Bearing in mind that it had been raining and the mud wasn’t quite as solid as it was in hour prior to our visit, he began to slide. Me being me could do nothing but picture and old man at the bottom of a hill covered in mud… but no, him being him decided to grab the branch in front of him and swing down, much like a chimpanzee, a ninety-one-year-old chimpanzee in a sports jacket and flat souled shoes.
How not to play golf
My golf skills are much the same as Donald Trumps, that being non-existent. The man that works at the course tells me that he plays golf eight days a week – I’m not entirely sure how that works but we go along with it anyway. He can swing his club like nothing I have ever seen before, and his ball flies out of site. On the other hand, you have me, I adopted the method of swinging, missing and pretending to search for where the ball went, knowing full well that it is still sat looking at me in its original position. Noticing I did this, the helpful man gave me a tin of white powder spray to spray on the head of the club, leaving a thin layer of powder. The theory behind this is that when you hit the ball, the point of impact should leave a mark where you have hit the ball, to hit it correctly the mark should be left dead in the centre of the club’s head. This theory must be wrong because after a few attempts of hitting it, I looked at the club head and everywhere was clear about from… a circle of white powder, completely unfazed, laughing at me in the middle.