The Perils of Showing Off

There we were (Rob, myself and Rob's dog Ebony) walking across Clapham Common. Our attention was caught by a man flying a large kite. He seemed to be struggling to control it. We amble over and start talking to his friend. "He has only had this kite since yesterday" we are told. I offer to help. We sort out the kite's rigging, and up it goes. Four seconds later, I am being dragged across Clapham Common on my stomach.

At this point, I notice three things.

1. The Kite is big, and I mean big.
2. My shoulder and elbow hurt like hell.
3. Rob (and the two guys whose kite this is) are doubled up with laughter, Rob so much so that I think he may do himself a mischief.

With my dignity completely shredded and some skin missing from my elbow, I take to flying this kite sitting on the grass. I'm still dragged around on my backside, but at least I can exert a modicum of control over the beast.

All in all, we spend an hour helping the two new kite owners, and I'm pleased that at the end they are managing to fly it most of the time. We shake hands as we leave, promise to meet again next week. and they both grin hugely at the memory of my antics.

The only one who fears for my well being is the dog who fusses round me for the remainder of the walk. Rob keeps smirking and breaking out in giggles as we walk home, and I determine to get my own back by taking a kite to Clapham next week and making him fly it.

It is a peculiar fact that despite growing older and supposedly wiser, some of us have these amazing blindspots when it comes to our own abilities. I know I do.