Friday, November 06, 2009

The Rolling Hill

So the next day, a Friday, braced and full of beans after Thursday’s thrilling blackberry-scrumping adventure in which I had unequivocally stuck it to The Man, I took a northward lane up the hill towards Lansdown.

By and by I happened upon the gate depicted below. I leaned there and gazed out across the valley.




The above picture deceives by flattening the hill. In reality, the gradient is fairly steep and – in a flash it struck me – eminently rollable. There was, I realised, absolutely nothing save societal convention, the fear of being observed and the odd cowpat to prevent me from leaping over the gate and tumbling, like a giddy child, down the grassy slope.

Once again I was faced with a test of my sense of adventure, of my capacity for devil-may-care spontaneity, perhaps even of my very manhood. I had passed the blackberry exam with flying colours, but would my determination to be master of my own destiny allow me to take this further, still more daring step?

I took a deep breath, and – do you know what I did? I thought ‘nah’, turned and walked down the lane, back to the office: a slinking failure, a simpering poltroon, a hollow man, a wretch.

9 comments:

Gaw said...

Very sensible. You may have got your tank-top damp and caught a chill. You have responsibilities now and can't afford to live the reckless life of a bachelor.

Uncle Dick Madeley said...

You're not a man unless you've rolled in cow shit.

Peter Burnet said...

That's true, but a gentleman never does so before sundown.

worm said...

rolling is so last season. This season I'm all about wafting.

Brit said...

Wafting doesn't sound very manly.

worm said...

if you're wearing Hai Karate it is

Outa_Spaceman said...

This is so sad...
On so many levels...
Or do I mean inclines..?
What's needed is a 'entirely plausible' reason for hurling your self pell mell down an enticing slope...
Or, failing that, maybe if you invested in a disposable white over-all and could convince someone to stand close by with a clipboard and a stopwatch that might help..?

O.S.M.
(I'm sure a BlackBerry would have some kind of stopwatch function..)

malty said...

Of course downhill rolling is the ideal cure for the malaise caused by consuming large quantities of stoats urine soaked soft fruit, the undulations causing the acetic acid to leach out through ones pores. It does however, have zero curative effect on the flux caused by munching the above, marinaded in wren's poo.
If one spins horizontally, downwards and diagonally across the slope, this is said to remove the sour taste from the mouth, caused by the badgers widdle.

There are those amongst us who will tut-tut and declare that these are naught but old wives tales, rhubarb I say, all of the above...endorsed by the GMC.

Gadjo Dilo said...

Sensible indeed. I've never since felt so ill as when, as a child, I once spent a whole afternoon rolling down a hill.