One day I will find someone to join me. The problem, is that it can be a tough sell trying to persuade a fellow resident to be a tourist in their own town, and also to maybe look just a little bit like a dick while doing it.
In October, I will be attending a big event, and will need to cover quite a lot of ground. Given the current state of play with my knee, I feel like I am running out of time to get fit enough for this thing. I do know, however, that there will be an operations manager on site with a golf buggy we can maybe steal. Do you have to hot-wire a golf buggy? I once read a story about the country and western singer Tammy Wynette, who had a number of awful husbands. One of them – an alcoholic – famously stole the ride-on lawn mower to go downtown and buy booze after she had hidden the car keys in an attempt to keep him sober.
But the ride I am talking about has two wheels not four. Light, easy to manoeuvre, narrow enough to share a pavement, but not as dangerous as the bicycle. I am of course, talking about a Segway. It may not be the coolest look in town, but what could be better than gliding around town on a guided tour atop one of these babies? Almost anything, according to my husband.
‘You want to do WHAT?’ He asked me, when I brought it up.
‘They do tours down by the river. They give you a guided tour, and it includes going around the new Quay they opened this summer.’
‘It will be fun!’ I said.
I tried appealing to his Irish ancestry, ‘They may go past a pub.’
Not even a micropause. ‘No.’
‘Lots of people do it,’ I tried, ‘they give you time to practise in a carpark first.’
‘You just don’t want to look like a dickhead,’ I accused him.
‘That’s right,’ he agreed.
I have let the idea lie for a while. Sometimes, it is just a matter of planting a seed and letting it take hold with my husband, but actually that approach rarely works. It is better to just spring things on him, like the time we were in Singapore.
It was only as we approached the cable car that I had purchased tickets for to get us across to Sentosa Island that I noticed he was looking a bit nervous.
‘Come on!’ I said, ‘I have a surprise for you.’ We got in, I shut the doors and the cable car lurched away from its mooring high above the rooftops and trundled towards the bay it would cross over.
‘JESUS CHRIST WHERE IS THE FLOOR?’ He said.
‘I booked us in a glass bottomed one,’ I explained, ‘I thought you would like it.’
‘NO. No – I most definitely do not like it,’ he said, panting heavily and looking at the ceiling.
‘What on earth is the matter with you?’ I asked. ‘You were in an airplane yesterday and that was at 35 000 feet.’
‘Yes, but the airplane,’ he explained, ‘did not have a glass bottom.’
So it is not surprising that my husband has a certain lack of trust when it comes to me organizing activities. He likes to stick with what we know: walking the dogs, visiting local pubs and wandering around the supermarket aisles.
But this weekend my brother is in town. The weather had been crazy yesterday, but today was OK. Maybe today, with just the right level of cunning, I could find a partner to take to a Segway and with me, ride the mean streets of Perth like a proper tragic.
I sent him a text message.
‘Love to, but unfortunately have to work…’ Came the reply.
My husband had obviously got to him first. Either that or a surfeit of common sense had.
I won’t give up, though. One day, just like Randy Crawford sang, One day, I’ll fly away/ glide off on my Segway…..