Is It Just Me? Read Online Free PDF Page B

ten. As an aside, I will share with you this: I was a collector of, wait for it, National Trust bookmarks. Oh yes, rock and roll. I was sixty before I was sixteen. But I could still put that down as a hobby, thank you very much. Whatever your bent, these were all joyous, clearly identifiable and legitimate pastimes. And we made space for them in our lives, sandwiching them in between homework and tea. They were, simply, things we did. As necessary as washing or eating.
    Then you become a teenager, and that terrible concept of ‘cool’ makes its way into your life. Suddenly, you’re only able to do hobbies if you’re actually good at them. If you want to be in an orchestra, you have to be able to actually play an instrument: you can no longer get away with screeching blue murder into a recorder and waiting for the grown-ups to clap. Or, in my case, randomly plucking at the double bass: I disregarded the bow, thinking I was instinctively Jazz (and whilst we’re on it, was it really necessary to give people instruments proportionate to their size? I think it would be have been far funnier for tiny Twig Smythson to struggle with a double bass and me to have the piccolo, but there you have it.)
    Excuse me, but do you really need to tell everyone about the double bass?
    Yes, alas, Little Miranda, I think I do. If only to exorcise its terrible demons from our soul. I thought you were auditioning?
    I have been told to go and ask Miss Everett what a basic waltz step is . . . Not sure why . . . Maybe Liesl had to do the waltz . . .
    Don’t get your hopes up.
    Oh, and if you
are
telling them about the double bass, at least mention lax. I’m VERY good at lacrosse.
    You most certainly are. But that’s why you do so much of it. You wouldn’t do it if you were rubbish, would you? Just do it for fun?
    Defo not. That would be so square. * goes off singing ‘I am sixteen, going on seventeen . . .’ *
    Point made. As a teenager, we suddenly had to get serious about hobbies (which, incidentally, doesn’t include walking around shopping centres in feral packs, buying tops). So, no more gymnastics unless your forward roll is good enough to represent the school at the county championships.
    And,
by the way
, at what age does it suddenly become impossible and terrifying to attempt a forward roll? I don’t know about you, but I always used to be forward rolling. If I wanted to jump on a friend’s bed, I might casually forward roll my way on. I was like a piece of teenage elastic, throwing myself everywhere. We all were, weren’t we? Then, suddenly, in your later years, you might be faced with the prospect of doing a forward roll only to hear yourself saying: ‘I can’t do it. Seriously, oh my goodness, it’s really scary, I can’t, I’ll break my neck, won’t I? My head’s going to fall off. No, I can’t. How did I ever do this?’ Ditto handstands. There was a stage in my life when I was never
not
doing a handstand of a summer month. There I’d be, walking along; I’d see some open grass, up with a quick handstand, and keep walking. No one would think it odd.
Now
if I attempted a handstand, firstly everyone would assume I was deranged but secondly, I would assume my arms would break underneath me. Also, it looks an awfully long way down, that grass. What happens if I do a good one, a really marvellous perky handstand, but can’t get down? Or what if I lose control and flip over? That would be truly terrifying.
    I’d like to apologise to any older readers who haven’t considered this handstand/forward roll issue, and are now tempted to try one or both. Good luck to you, I say. If you’re reading this in bed, try the forward roll now. Go on. Particularly if you’re with a partner who’s lying next to you. Don’t tell them what you’re about to do. Just get up, stand at the end of the bed and do a forward roll. Wait for the reaction. What pre-sleep larks you’ll have. I’m now imagining couples in various parts