Just having a quiet one tonight. Sipping wine, thinking about listening to some music, and watching the series Sherlock, an updated version of Sherlock Holmes (starring Benedict Cumberbatch in the titular role and with Martin Freeman as Dr John Watson). I have gotten into this because I am tutoring a Year 11 student whose class has been studying it as a text for the English concept of intertextuality. And you know what? I've really been enjoying it. I'm not one of those women who goes gaga over Cumberbatch's looks at all, but I do think he's a fantastic actor. And I will concede he's an interesting looking man.
Speaking of high school students, I've been doing some casual teacher aide work to assist me in the finalisation of my degree. My plan to teach English entails assisting in other subjects, and most alarmingly, one of those subjects is sport. I do not have happy memories of school sport. My clumsiness and lack of coordination resulted in me always being the last kid picked for the team. My standing plummeted the day I somehow bounced a medicine ball from the ground during a game of tunnel ball, almost neutering the kid behind me. I was once the determining factor of a relay loss because I had to keep stopping to pull up my underpants, having chosen the pair with bung elastic that morning. In high school, I misjudged a leap from the springboard and landed in an ungainly bellyflop on the vaulting horse, thus winding myself dreadfully. It is not an unreasonable assumption that I do not enjoy sport.
Therefore, it was with trepidation that I found myself in a game of pickleball with the Year Sevens yesterday morning. I informed the teacher and students that I have the athletic prowess of a tranquilised slug. Nonetheless, I bravely brandished the pickleball paddle, and surprised myself by hitting the ball occasionally. I managed to play for almost the full lesson, but ensured I did some yoga stretches when I got home to stave off any aches.
I appear to have avoided any resultant aches from my cavorting around with the pickleball paddle. This is good. I don't need further aggravation at the moment; I'm babysitting my fur-grandkid, a rambunctious beagle-crossed-with-a-staffy-and-a-tornado named Daisey. She's not whimpering for my son too much, which is unlike her. She grizzles if she misses him. He's gone to Melbourne for a few days. It's an adventure for him. The last time he flew on an aeroplane (ironically, also to Melbourne) was when he was in utero - I had flown to Melbourne to compete on Sale of the Century. That experience gave me a taste for blood, so much so, I took part in the filming of this current season of Mastermind Australia. I'm in Series 7, Episodes 49 and 50. Catch 'em on SBS on Demand. I am not at liberty to divulge the airing date for the semifinal yet, but I will get around to it.
Anyway, might watch a bit more Sherlock now. I mentioned trepidation about taking part in a pickleball game yesterday. I'm feeling a bit of trepidation about this so-called military parade scheduled in the US this weekend. It's being touted as a military parade, but it's a MAGA circle-jerk at the very least, and reminiscent of the fascist grotesquerie of the parades in North Korea. It's beyond cringe.
