Wednesday, 20 January 2010

What sort of man are you?

What does the term; “a man’s man”, actually mean?

I hear it a lot, not particularly aimed at me – shock horror – but about certain men folk, who I have trouble coming up with a common characteristic that defines this term positively.

To me it is just posh for inconsiderate arsehole.

And do not get me wrong, I can do arsehole like the next bloke, unless the next bloke is Elton John of course, but still, I cannot recall being grouped in this genre.

I do not actually know where I figure in the infinitely vast, and complex male spectrum of meathead or nancy, but it was something I contemplated yesterday, after a neighbour gleefully shouted at me “That’s what I like to see, a man, doing mans’ work”.

My dad was over, and we were in the process of making a log store, lugging wood, swearing, losing tools, screwing things together, swearing, losing tools, hammering, swearing, losing tools and operating wood cutting equipment .

I should have perhaps offered this neighbour a diet coke, that, or counselling.

But as I was off in my own little world carefully hammering large nails through several pieces of wood, I recalled a few conversations based on this subject.

Personally, and as a creature of penis, there are a lot of traditional male pursuits I enjoy, and some, while I am perfectly able to apply myself to, find ridiculously dull.

Like the minute I start sawing, or painting for that matter, I. Want. To. Kill. Myself.

Give me a cricket ball, or a hockey stick – more manly than you can imagine – I am happy to have a go at knocking teeth out. Though my military medium tends to get lifted out-of-the-ground, more so than into any face of my opponents, accept the young kids, I reckon I could still smash a few of them.

When building my own house, I was incredibly interested in the whole process of how everything went together, and the timings of it all, but actually doing it is a completely different matter.

Football days out with the lads are still a good laugh, if a little more tedious than they used to be, and I found a stag do in Magaluf last year, something I am now unlikely to repeat, and only partly because of the police orders.

I can be incredibly ignorant and inappropriate, I do not even have to try, but at the same time, well not exactly the same time, I can listen and sympathise.

Cooking is something I do, but I am no fancy chef, and how does that work? The majority of celebrity chefs are men, but cooking at home is not exactly seen as a butch pursuit? Plus, Nigella Lawson, mmmmm, just thought I would mention her.

Anyway, I am sure all this will lead to be being labelled a modern man, which is also rubbish, as my favourite film is from 1977, and there are no batteries in my toothbrush.

But can anyone better define a man’s man?

And for prosperity, my new log store, complete with logs that arrived in just enough time for us to make it, and have lunch afterwards. Very luckyLogistical genius, I say.

Et voila

Makes you want to go 'Grrrrrrr' just looking at it, doesn't it? Or is that a man's man thing?