Training for the Olimpicks
If you missed (as I did) the National Worm Charming Championships on Sunday, and you have a soft spot for silly British sports, don’t worry, there’s still time to train for the Olimpicks. If you don’t (as I don’t) fancy the competitive Shin Kicking, there’s “the traditional sackrace where the sack is tied round the neck. Straw bales provide handicaps and water is spread liberally.”
…or you could maybe just practise your Worm Charming after all.
You might think this (highly entertaining) article in the Independent on Sunday would make me a little sheepish about being British, but as eccentricity is simply part of our heritage, I may as well just celebrate it. Stiff upper lip? Not in my back yard.
As Cole Moreton writes, the worm charming takes place:
‘in the “secret field” that hosts the event (it’s always the same one, so there’s no secret at all). When a whistle blows they will have 15 minutes to get worms out of a square yard of turf by doing anything but digging. The judge, Big John Skuse, used to cheat so much (worms in his watering can, trouser legs and hat) that they put him in charge. He farms worms for a living - and sells bins in which they munch through household waste, turning it into rich fertiliser. “Being right next to Totnes [New Age capital of the West] we’ve got no shortage of crystal huggers and yoghurt weavers who think they’ll win by giving the ground an Indian head massage,” says Big John.’
Um… beats cheating though right, John? Are the ancient elixirs more effective then? Or the didgeridoos?
There’s another chance to pick up some tips on the 30th of June at the World Worm Charming Championships in Cheshire (with rules in 30 languages, including Tibetan, so no excuses for cheating there).
If you don’t fancy your chances, you could try your hand at Cheese Rolling (in Gloucestershire), Rolling Pin Throwing (… hmm… also in Gloucestershire) or there’s always the Pea Shooting (in Cambridgeshire). Nettle Eating (in Dorset) then? What about Snail Racing (in Norfolk)? Or if you’re slightly more energetic you could try a spot of Fruit Chasing at the Orange Race (in memory of Sir Francis Drake… aha, that’s in Totnes).
Cole Moreton’s article continues:
‘“We are eccentric,” says Dr Lesley Prince, social psychologist… “It is part of the British national identity.”
Yes, but why? And isn’t this an English rather than British thing, really?’
Well… not really, Cole. Haggis Hurling could surely only happen in Scotland? And is the World Bog Snorkelling Championship not held in Wales each year?
I’m sure it’s not even just a British thing though, right? Surely other countries have strange sports… right? What about Extreme Ironing? That’s global.
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May 11th, 2007 at 11:55 am
Nice post Sumangali—nice also in the quaint, endearing way that is uniquely English.
Raised as I was on a diet of English television and cultural eccentricity—Monty Python, Blackadder, Dr Who, Bergerac, The Two Ronnies, Taggert (Scottish really but who’s counting) cricket, the Queen on the back of our coins, rhyming slang, and even that ultimate eccentric, English past-time—watching Coronation Street—all of which are claimed here in New Zealand as almost our very own—certainly not as foreign anyway.
So I was planning an extended dissertation on New Zealand eccentricity, and have even started one on my own blog, when I realised that almost everything that is wacky about New Zealand comes from Britain!
Take Sheep Dog Trialling, which I was going to cite as a prime example of NZ eccentricity—confounded before even out of the gates; it was invented in England as a competitive sport in the 1870s.
Although we may be the only country in the world where farmers competing to herd sheep into pens with their sheep dogs (”Get in behind Bruce!”) was made into a highly rating, prime time television show…
May 11th, 2007 at 2:01 pm
Sorry to break this to you, John, but the UK’s One Man and His Dog started in ‘76 and gained a peak audience of over 8 million. Good luck with your quest!
May 13th, 2007 at 7:49 am
I find the finest portrait of English eccentricity in My Family and Other Animals by Gerald Durrell. Utterly charming.
Let’s remember Bernard from Yes Minister. “This is one of those irregular verbs: I have an open mind, you are an eccentric, he is round the twist.”
May 13th, 2007 at 12:03 pm
Well it sounds like a hoot to be British (or English) if you prefer. Us Canadians pale in colour compared to the wide array of eccentric activities available for entertaining oneself in the UK!
Bravo! A fun read. Makes me wish I was from there. Not that worm charming actually sounds like something I’d do, it’s just the concept I adore!
Camille
May 13th, 2007 at 12:40 pm
Thanks Alf. I haven’t got round to reading My Family and Other Animals but have always meant to. Since half my household is canine the title has always appealed
Hello, Camille. As far as I can make out, the Canadian sense of humour is somewhat similar to the British (for better or worse). I too am far from tempted to take up worm charming, but it’s reassuring to know that the my fellow country folk are not taking themselves too seriously… some of them at least… somewhere in some “Secret Field”…
May 15th, 2007 at 11:48 am
Since writing this post, I have discovered (as I suspected) that Japan’s sporting customs are perhaps equal in eccentricity to Britain’s.
Take “Baby-Cry Sumo” (Konaki) for example:
“sumo wrestlers each hold a baby, face each other and wait to see whose infant will cry first. The annual event takes place in temples and a priest assists by shouting and waving at the babies.”
It’s a 400-year old custom based on the belief that “crying babies grow fast”. (Maybe the sooner to protect themselves against random people flailing about).
You can read more in last Sunday’s Observer