It's fair to say that the first ever Screen-Free Saturday had been a resounding success. My phone, like a shiny brick, had been in my pocket all day, and it had remained gloriously silent for almost twenty four hours, in my attempt to enjoy a life less connected.
The day started with me driving to the Toby Carvery for breakfast. Almost everything on the road was trying to stop me arriving on time, including confused articulated lorries and roads that had moved since the last time I drove down them. I really don't like it when roads do that. I arrived at the carvery eventually and drove around looking for a parking space.
It was Paul's birthday, and to celebrate, he'd invited a few guys to the Toby Carvery for what he described as a 'cheap and plentiful' full english breakfast, followed by a couple of hours on the driving range, thwacking some golf balls around. I got there to find everyone else tucking into platefuls of sausages, eggs, beans and mushrooms, chatting about football.
"Gents, it's the one and only Matt Stubbs!" cheered Paul as I arrived. The atmosphere was immediately blokey. In fact, as I looked around, it seemed the entire carvery was packed with burly bearded men, wolfing down breakfasts and slurping tea in that enthusiastic way that men free of their wives and bolstered by the indifference of the rest of the lads, will always revert to. I half-expected to see a mountain of bright yellow hard-hats stacked up by the door. Not for Paul's party though - I counted one insurance salesman, an accountant, a networking engineer and a youth pastor, among others.
"Happy birfday, mate!" I said in a way that surprised me a little. I sat down before I realised that there wasn't really room for me. It had already occurred to me that I would push through any issues of awkwardness and self-confidence should they arise, so I brushed that aside, stood up and headed over to the sloppy tea urns.
If I'd imagined breakfast would be a battle for self-confidence, then I hadn't quite anticipated the driving range. I secretly don't understand the point of a driving range. I didn't say anything. Gareth slipped on his white golfing glove and started swinging an imaginary 9-iron. He knows what he's doing at the driving range. I, however, was an absolute master at missing the ball altogether.
"Do you want the tee a bit higher?" asked Paul at one point. I guessed I did.
Golf must be one of the most frustrating things I've ever tried. Before you can get anywhere, you have to have a set of complicated techniques down - including interlocking the little finger of one hand with the index of finger of the other round the handle, standing straight but not straight, swinging a heavy metal pole in a perfect arc, judging the height of the ball from the ground and crucially, hitting it towards a tiny hole several hundred yards away - though on the driving range, the hole is replaced by yellow markers telling you how far away they are. Who invented this nonsense? My back was aching and my fingers felt like they had been on the rack and my best shot, my absolute best, nudged the ball about 20 yards onto the range where it rolled to a miserable stop.
From the driving range, I went to Starbucks, had a cup of tea and read through the survey report on the maisonette. I found myself circling a few things. There's so much about buildings that I don't know about. At one point, I got my phone out of my pocket to Google something about how moss affects roof tiles, and then remembered that it was Screen-Free Saturday. The mossy tiles would have to wait.
The day certainly did seem to stretch out. I had time to make a vegetable curry in the afternoon - something that the people running the parenting course at church had asked for. I'd volunteered, thinking it would be fun to learn (I have never made a curry before). I put on some music and started chopping onions. It really was fun, though I think the recipe I found might have got tablespoons and teaspoons round the wrong way. I scooped out some to taste, while it bubbled away on the stove, and nearly lost the use of my tongue; my whole head felt like it was on fire. I hope the parents are in the mood for something with a little kick tomorrow night.
Soon it was time for dinner at Paul and Heather's. They'd invited a few of us round for a meal and a birthday board game. That was much more my style than the driving range - simple, phone-free fun with friends. I walked into the kitchen while Paul stirred something on the stove.
"Mmm, what's for dinner, Paul?" I asked.
"It's a red thai curry," he replied. Of course it was.
So that's how the first Screen-Free Saturday went. No faffing around on Twitter, no constantly checking emails, no sneaky battles on QuizUp. It was the longest, most enjoyable Saturday I've had in a long time.
As I walked up the road and back to my car after a long game of Sherlock Holmes, 221B Baker Street and a few cups of glorious tea, I felt really rather satisfied with my Screen-Free Saturday. I hadn't planned to fill it with so much enjoyable stuff - it had just sort of happened.
And that's the way I think it should be.
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