I’ve never quite mastered the art of hula hooping – much to my utter frustration. I was really sporty as a child and couldn’t (and frankly still can’t) fathom how a piece of circular, fluorescent plastic had me stumped. Well, my hips won’t lie, thus the hoop won’t hula.
While out recently, I was delighted* to see a man honing his skills in the local communal gardens. That he had chosen to put on a public display pre-9.00am, was not only refreshing to all those commuters and early risers, but also rather encouraging. Monday mornings aren’t for the faint hearted and something as innocent and fun as a hula hooping adult, could be just the caffeine alternative we all need to get the week started. As I carefully observed his technique, so did many a passer-by, some of whom stopped to watch his rather impressive physical display (please note: I’m not going to buy a hoop and realise said dream any time soon, I’m a new-ish mum, hula hooping can wait!). My imagination began to conjure up endless reasons as to who, what, why? Perhaps he was a circus escapee, a BGT hopeful or a performance artist carrying out a smile-inducing one-man protest?
Well readers, I clearly wasn’t the only person intrigued by his act. A far more outgoing, and dare I say it, ‘egged on by his friend’ observer decided to yell across the street. “What’s that all about mate?” while chuckling into his smartphone. To which the hula hooping man replied: “I don’t like yoga.”
Ha! I couldn’t have wished for a better response.
*read: furious and regressed straight back to childhood