Start the week #67

Male bonding and all that, London's parks + more

May 13, 2024

Greetings!

In today’s STW I look at male bonding and vulnerability, counselling, London’s parks, plus some glorious photos, brilliant articles (no, not just mine!) and three wonderful videos.

But enough of this persiflage! On with the newsletter.

Male bonding, vulnerability and man hugs? Oh, puh-lease

It’s a well-know fact that, in the UK at least, men in particular are prone to suicide, so any kind of initiative to help men acknowledge mental health issues is to be welcomed. Yesterday I read of an initiative that I am sure is a good idea for some men, but it wouldn’t suit me. It involves spending a day in the company of men you’ve never met before, giving each other hugs, and generally being vulnerable.

Well, I suppose I’m very fortunate: I am reasonably robust as far as mental health is concerned, and I have a good support network, so this doesn’t appeal to me for those reasons alone.

Also, as I’ve said before, some men like train-spotting, some like stamp-collecting, and I even knew someone who loved railway sidings. Me? I have a particular psychological problem that I suppose I ought to see a professional about one of these days: I like the company of women. So the thought of spending a whole day with just a load of blokes sounds pretty dreadful to me, especially if they’re going to be emoting all over the place..

As for hugging: I reserve man hugs for people I have known for ages but haven’t seen for at least five years, and it has to be spontaneous. Like the time, in 2013, when I was in Southwold looking at the menu in the window of a pizzeria called Enzo’s, wondering if it was the same Enzo Elaine and I had met several years before. All of a sudden the door opened and Enzo – yes, the same Enzo – came out and we gave each other a big hug.

A few weeks ago I bumped into my best friend as I was going into a supermarket. I haven’t seen him since September 2023. So what did we do? Shook hands.

Male bonding, or maybe it’s only British male bonding, tends to be rather subtle, either in the form of insults or astonishingly understated. For instance, a few years ago I visited a school and there was the head of computing who I’d worked with 15 years previously, putting up a poster. Did I give him a big hug? Do me a favour. I did what we Brits do: “Blimey”, I said. “You still here? I’d have thought you’d been put out to grass years ago.”

This kind of insult is par for the course, if you like someone. .

Or there was the student I’d had interesting discussions with in a school I worked in. As I was leaving for the last time, he and I passed each other. What did we do? Gave each other the barest perceptible nod.

Same with a bus driver last year. He stopped to let me cross the road. I raised my hand in a semi-salute,. And he gave me a virtually imperceptible nod. At the end of my sax course last term, I thanked the tutor and we shook hands: no need to hug.

This antipathy to hugging men I don’t know isn’t just a quirk of mine. In the film The Bells Go Down, Tommy Trinder has a falling out with James Mason. A bit later on Tommy Trinder is eating chips and offers James Mason one. Not exactly Love Story, but come on, what did you expect?

In an episode of the British TV series Endeavor, the eponymous character, Morse, manages to retrieve the life savings of his boss. Did his boss give him a big hug? Don’t make me laugh. He said, “You’re alright, Morse”, and that, my friends, is about emotional as we men get.

Mind you, I did cry a few years ago when we had to have one of our cats put to sleep. (That post had snuck behind a paywall but I’ve unsnuck it for your reading pleasure. It’s very chortlesome. Mostly, anyway.)

I’ve never found counselling helps much, but that’s just me. I would say that if you’re a man reading this and you have mental health issues, go get some help, there’s no shame in it. Having a good cry is a lot better than bottling it all up until you knock seven bells out of your partner or do something terrible to yourself. But I’d suggest not seeking counselling from me, for reasons that will become clear in the next section.

Counselling

In my youth I decided to face my inner demons by going for counselling. The therapist ran courses in co-counselling, which entails being trained and then meeting up in pairs to take turns in, basically, listening to each other. So I took the course and did lots of co-counselling with the other trainees.

Unfortunately, on one occasion I was paired up with someone I got on really well with, but who was very upper class and had an accent to match. He was feeling pretty angry about his mother, so I asked him a standard question. You have to imagine his responses delivered in a cut glass English accent:

Me: What would you like to say to your mother if she was here now?

Him: Do you know, Terry? I think what I’d like to do is say “p*** orf, mother”. Yes, that’s it. P*** orf, mother, won’t you? P*** orf, I say.”

Well, by the time we arrived at the final “p*** orf” I was doubled up with laughter, with tears streaming down my face. That was the only time anything like that happened in a co-counselling session, and I have to say I felt pretty bad about it.

OMG department

Quote from a part of Alicia Kenworthy’s recent post:

The first time my mother met the Parisian lawyer, she famously broke the ice by asking: “what is the first thing you noticed about my daughter?” He did himself no favors when he replied: “her boobs.”

The article is very funny, do go over and read it (when you’ve finished this one I mean, because I’m still going strong here. If you suddenly disappear it will put me off my stride. Thank you.).

Inside Freedman Towers

Elaine and I were walking in the park a few weeks ago. There was a game of girls’ soccer in progress.

Elaine: Oh isn’t that wonderful, having girls’ soccer here?

Me: No.

Elaine: What do you mean, “no”?

Me: Girls should stick to netball and knitting. If God had wanted girls to play soccer he’d have given them hairy legs and hobnail boots.

Elaine: 🙄

London parks

London has loads of green spaces. I was reading recently that 40% of London is comprised of parks. Helen Illus has created a map of London parks in the style of the London tube map. If you’re in London and you plan your journey carefully, you can often do most of your travelling in parks. This is what Elaine and I did last week. We started off in St James’ Park. As we neared Buckingham Palace we saw a Range Rover driving along flanked on all sides by police cars and motorbikes with flashing lights. We thought maybe King Chas and Queen Cam were in the car, which was a bit of a shame because we were going to surprise them and invite ourselves in for tea.

From St James’ Park we went to Green Park, and from there to Hyde Park. If we hadn’t wanted to visit two music shops on the way home we’d have gone on to Kensington Gardens and then Holland Park.

Here are some pictures.

Top row: St James' Park, ditto, Buckingham Palace; Middle row: Gates to Green Park, Green Park, Hyde Park; Bottom row: Hyde Park, Holocaust Memorial, 7-7 Memorial:

And here’s a map showing Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens:

Videos:

I hope you like these videos I’ve curated for your viewing pleasure.

First up, Vinegar Joe. This was the brash, raucous band with Robert Palmer and Elkie Brooks. I love the energy, the music, the lyrics and the way that Elkie is clearly enjoying herself.