A shorts story and a poem

It was a balmy afternoon turning into evening and the bells of the Notre Dame de France church in Juvisy-sur-Orge were ringing out for mass or perhaps just chiming the hour. Making his way down the pavement towards me was an old man dressed, appropriately for the sweltering weather, in shorts. Rather voluminous shorts for his spindly legs. The knobbly knees swung back and forth making contact with the shorts’ hems with each step.

Why was my first reaction to snigger at seeing old bare legs? Isn’t it odd that we expect old men to wear synthetic trousers? How many shorts does an old man own? Where and when has that same pair of shorts been worn before? Is there a link between the moments when men wear shorts and when they are living life to the full or on the edge?   

Rat in the desert

A reminder of those hot days before the rather disappointing summer of 2011 began, here is a poem published today in the Well Versed column, edited by Jody Porter, of the Morning Star, the only daily English-language socialist newspaper in the world.

Rather appropriately the history of the newspaper, formerly the Daily Worker, charts the lifetime of ‘that old man in shorts’. As a bit of background especially for French readers, Stanley Matthews is an English football hero, who began his career in the 1930s. He had an exceptionally long career due to his talent and his dedication to fitness. He would weigh his shoes down with lead when he was training on Blackpool beach, so that when he was actually playing a match, he would feel much lighter and nimbler. And, of course, he wore big baggy shorts.  

Now in lead shoes like Stanley Matthews