MAN UP OR MAN DOWN

The company of men and what it means to be a man and how you deal with manship is a preoccupation for many men. It is an interesting state. While we all accept life is a joyous cornucopia of different beings, this is rarely put into practice on man things. Male partners across the world are forced unnaturally into man-thing groups, much the same as the children of parents who are friends, shuffling uncomfortably in a front room forced to play together when quite frankly they have less in common than bread and concrete.

Concrete - as you can see - it has cracks in it much like a cracker - but a cracker is not bread.

I like all my male friends, which is why they are my friends, I have chosen them and vice versa, but have you ever observed a group of men who are relative strangers at a social gathering? At a BBQ, they are all stood round the hot coals clutching their beers gazing at the sizzling meat. This, contrary to popular female belief, is not a group of men bonding, it is an awkward group of emotionally fearful men staring at something in a desperate attempt to come up with a witty and generally appealing remark. Unlike, our female counterpoints we don’t actually have generic conversation. Football? Really? In this day and age this is a high risk opening gambit, especially for me, and I know I am not alone. If you are in a group of men all stood around in football shirts (apart from being in hell) you are on safe ground, if not however, you will be in the company of one or all of these types.

Football bore, knows too much because his life is empty, you will be stuck listening to this person forever.

Passionate fan, will get so animated talking about his beloved team he will give you an impromptu spittle shower.

Fair weather fan, this person knows very little but is so desperate to look informed and be one of the ‘chaps’ that he will agree to every comment, get names wrong, and strangely seems to have knowledge of only one season back in 1982 when he had bought a Panini sticker album and memorised all the players.

A football. I had to look this up - I expected a ball with lots of tiny feet on it.

But lets not restrict the crippling awkwardness to football, oh no, there are a myriad of topics for men to flail around at out. Cars! Here is a conversation I had recently – shortly after this conversation began all the other men stood around at the party slipped away like Arnold Schwarzenegger when he caked himself in mud to hide from Predator:

City Male: (stood feet a firm shoulder width apart, beer in hand, shirt with colour up (and WTF is that about?) tucked in black jeans, sensible brogues on feet, clean shaven, filling as much space with his body as he can) So, Martin…
Me: (wearing shorts, a pair of Birkenstocks, t-shirt, full beard and not really trying to even be present in this dimension) Ermm… it’s Simon…
CM: Yeah of course, ha ha… as I was saying Martin… what are you driving these days?
Me: (attempting lame joke just to lighten the conversational crisis I have found myself in) You mean apart from sheep?
CM: (blank look as joke bounces off his not metaphorically thick head) Are you a farmer?
ME: Err no, I am not… I have a Peug….
CM: (cutting through me) I drive a 5 Series … she’s a beast (I recoil physically at him saying beast, I also expect him to describe his wife as a ‘sturdy lass who goes well, not bad for a filly with a previous owner)

At this point it is important to note – I don’t know what a 5 Series is. But I am prepared to bluff.

CM: continuing: Of course this would be quite useful in your line of work (Eh? Works in theatre – not much call for any cars in theatre) with all those sheep, you could fit them all in the boot Martin.
ME: (look of despair) Ermm I am not a farmer… that was a joke.. I work in theatre… and my name isn’t..
CM: Why did you say you were a farmer Martin? That is a bit odd..
ME: I drive a Peugeot. (look of defiance)
CM: Ha ha ha …. you are a funny man Martin a funny funny man (then he does that punching the shoulder thing, why? Why would you just hit a stranger? This also spills my cucumber martini onto my feet, at which point a dog comes and licks it up)

Farmers are a bit more tooled up these days.

So I am left standing with a man who thinks I am a farmer called Martin who jokes about his car ownership supping a half spilled cucumber martini whilst a dog gets pissed licking it from my naked feet in opened toed sandals. This, female partners, is how us males get humiliated every time you put us into all male environments expecting us to be able to cope.