Patching up Mr Woog.

Sponsored by Band-Aid

It started with a surfboard.

A stand up paddleboard to be correct. You know the ones that were trendy a few years back when you would see pictures of celebrities standing up on a board looking effortlessly cool.

Well I am here to tell you that it is just not true. It is hard. Way hard. I know because I tried it once at Balmoral Beach and, in front of a packed crowd, tried very, very hard to heave myself up onto it in the deep water. As stood as I managed to stand up, I fell off the other side with a yelp.

And that was the beginning and the end of my interest in surfing.

The board is Mr. Woog’s and marked the beginning of his mid-life crises.

He is doing things now, at 39, which he would never have dreamed of doing as a younger man. I am not sure why, maybe something to do with confidence. Although I am glad he is going down this “boys with toys” path, and not take the other well-trodden journey that men of his age so often do.

Although he does draw the line at jumping out of a plane with a parachute attached to him. And I do not blame him.


Apart from the stand up paddleboard, he has developed a deep obsession with motorbikes, those being both the dirt and road varieties. He will spend hours playing in the garage with his bikes, lovingly caressing them in a way that he may have done to me in days of yore.

Which is fine with me. Leaves me time to watch TV in peace.

He is even trying to convince his sons to get involved. One is keen and the other got as far as putting on the gear, going around the track once before declaring himself uninterested. (Thank god!)

Mr Woog, however, is a man that takes the bull by the horn. He is an “all or nothing” type of fella and when he falls into a new hobby, he does so with great gusto. He enjoys getting his man time on, riding his dirt bike through National Parks with a group, all egging each other on like teenaged boys would.
Wheelies and skids. And stacks.

So it was well timed when Band-Aid came on board as a new sponsor, as we have been flying through those boxes as frequently as my beloved flies through the air.

His latest dirt bike day resulted in quite a nasty spill, which I have been attending to with appropriate nurse-like skills. (With just the slightest eye rolls.)

He also complains that he is a bit sore all over after a day on his bike. I tell him that he is not as young and supple as he once was, and would he like me to fetch him a blankie. And a hot milk?

Do you live with a daredevil?

What is the worst spill you have mopped up?
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