This discussion is all about daft games you can play in order to help you grow old disgracefully. Suggestions very welcome. Here's one of mine, Blind Men, that you might try.
My friend Atkins and I, armed with white sticks, stand at opposite sides of a busy street, facing inwards, as though waiting for someone to help us across the road. Quite often a helpful man or woman will stop to help me before one stops to help Atkins, or vice versa, and when this happens, and for our game to work properly, we have to take delaying action by engaging our knight in shining armour in conversation, such as “You’re quite sure there’s nothing coming are you, because I wouldn’t like to be knocked over at my age?” or “Can you hold on a minute I’m going to sneeze, now where did I put my hankie?” That sort of thing. Often however we are fortunate enough to get a willing helper at the same time. Holding onto our guides by the arm we each set off on our journey across the road, tapping our white sticks on the road the while, then, when we meet in the centre of the road we suddenly shrug off our helpers, brandish our white sticks high in the air as though they are swords, and take up fencing stances. “On guard, you French scum,” I demand of Atkins. “Hah! You weel soon feel the cold steel of my sword you Eenglish peegdog!” replies Atkins. Then we start fencing with our white sticks. It stops the traffic of course and a sizeable crowd soon gathers. Actually we’re getting quite good at it by now; not to the standards of Douglas Fairbanks Junior and Errol Flynn maybe but certainly as good as Kevin Costner when he was Robin Hood, so we put on quite a decent show. After a couple of minutes or so of cut and thrust we simply pack it in and just walk away together chatting amiably, lest we get into trouble with Plod.
My friend Atkins and I, armed with white sticks, stand at opposite sides of a busy street, facing inwards, as though waiting for someone to help us across the road. Quite often a helpful man or woman will stop to help me before one stops to help Atkins, or vice versa, and when this happens, and for our game to work properly, we have to take delaying action by engaging our knight in shining armour in conversation, such as “You’re quite sure there’s nothing coming are you, because I wouldn’t like to be knocked over at my age?” or “Can you hold on a minute I’m going to sneeze, now where did I put my hankie?” That sort of thing.
Often however we are fortunate enough to get a willing helper at the same time. Holding onto our guides by the arm we each set off on our journey across the road, tapping our white sticks on the road the while, then, when we meet in the centre of the road we suddenly shrug off our helpers, brandish our white sticks high in the air as though they are swords, and take up fencing stances.
“On guard, you French scum,” I demand of Atkins.
“Hah! You weel soon feel the cold steel of my sword you Eenglish peegdog!” replies Atkins.
Then we start fencing with our white sticks. It stops the traffic of course and a sizeable crowd soon gathers.
Actually we’re getting quite good at it by now; not to the standards of Douglas Fairbanks Junior and Errol Flynn maybe but certainly as good as Kevin Costner when he was Robin Hood, so we put on quite a decent show. After a couple of minutes or so of cut and thrust we simply pack it in and just walk away together chatting amiably, lest we get into trouble with Plod.