Men and their toys

Men and their toys

Yes, men can be grumpy, unsociable, and uncommunicative, but on occasion we can also be gentle and understanding. Indeed this is often how we are amongst ourselves when sharing our ‘toys’ – those mechanical objects that bemuse women. Two such instances occurred recently. Not with a video camera, Apple iPad or over-complex watch, but a bicycle and a spade.

I had lent my bike against the railings outside the baker. Within a few minutes, and with a baguette in my hand, I returned to see two men hunched over its back wheel gesticulating. As I approached I was greeted with warm smiles. They were seventy-year old cyclists, a common sight in France, and from the other side of the road they had spotted my Trek. It beckoned them over. They had to take a closer look and hoped that I did not mind. In fact, I felt honoured and delighted.

The bike was the model ridden by Lance Armstrong, the seven-times winner of the Tour de France. Being an American bike, examples are rare in France. I had bought it new some years earlier as an over-indulgent present to myself, and for which I used money earned from a difficult WHO mission. The two men knew their stuff and had already noted its specialist wheels, stems and handlebars, its brakes and its derailleur gears front and back, and the carbon frame. We chatted, they quietly absorbed, and then it was time to touch the bike and feel its weight. Each lifted it in turn and nodded their approval – its lightness did not disappoint them. Next, they walked round checking it from all sides and then, after warm hand shakes and generous smiles, they left.

I jumped on the bike and sped home. The odd thing was that the men’s behaviour felt totally appropriate. Admiring and touching the equipment of others, albeit strangers, is what we men unashamedly do. It is as if there is some common ownership.

And as if to confirm this aspect of men, something similar happened just last week. This time it was in England, the observer was a man in his 80s and the subject was a Joseph Bentley garden spade. I had just bought the said spade as a present for a friend in France. To save paper and time I had left the shop with the spade only partly wrapped. We were queuing for a bus. Soon I realised that the man in front had spotted the shiny stainless steel blade and its ash handle. His eyes lingered on the spade then turned to me. ‘Why had I bought it? ‘How much did it cost?’ ‘Can I hold it – I have not seen one like this since I was a teenager?’ I passed it to him and he put his hand into the ‘D’ of the handle, then ran it down the shaft, and then lightly touched the blade. Then he gave it back.

Conversation continued in the bus. He was off to buy seeds for his allotment on which he used any one of three rather ancient spades inherited from his father. There once was a very nice spade in the family, but somehow it had gone to his sister! As he got off the bus he thanked me again.

That was not the end of the story. On our way through France we stopped for a meal at a Paris café. The spade was still only partly covered and from behind the bar the owner of the café noticed the handle and shiny blade and came over to learn more. He too wanted to hold this English toy, and as he marvelled he called over the chef who came out of the kitchen, washed his hands, and touched it too. Smiles all round.

This then is how men behave. The touching and sharing is something I know well. Notice also how very little was actually said. It is enough to be as one. Would women do this? They are certainly drawn to touch and chat about soft things such as scarves and clothing and of course babies. But bikes and spades – unlikely.

Paradoxically, when the spade was finally given to my friend, he was so excited he himself could hardly touch it. But he did show it to everybody around, and the men behaved exactly as would be predicted.

3 comments on “Men and their toys
  1. ian bruce says:

    Joe, I have experienced versions of what you describe, including the intense pleasure and comraderie of common interest, but they have not been so gender specific. For example when Filofax burst into my consciousness in the 1970s, Bromptons in the 1980s, Nokia Communicators in the 1990s, and yes, i phones n the 2000s, and tourquoise and silver rings in every decade, it could just have easily been a woman as a man with whom I have had an interested conversation. Common enthusiasm can be gender related I suppose, but often not?

  2. Jack Hamphrys says:

    Oo-er matron, what wonderful homoerotic images this story conjours up! What is it about ‘touching the equipment of others’ and in your description of a spade handle as a shaft, and its treatment in the hands of an admirer that resonates? All good locker room stuff. As the previous commenter ponts out, men and boys are only separated by the price of their toys.

    Anyway, I’m sure you get my thrust. If, as new men we should strive to get in touch with our feminine sides then surely, like you, we should also acknowledge that, in the end, boys will be boys.

  3. Graham Dukes says:

    I can only agree; one recalls the old saying that the only difference between men and boys is the price of their toys. But isn’t there also, for a certain group of men, an element of size and perhaps vitality? Spades and even bicycles leaning against a wall are relatively passive, but big machines bursting with life can cause a lot of normally unemotional men to swoon. I have elsewhere noted how this explains the addiction of a certain type of man to steam locomotives (panting, dragging themselves visibly along with their connecting rods, whistling to proclaim their approach) and pipe organs (breathing with the aid of vast lung-like bellows, groaning and sighing at sometimes inappropriate moments) and even helicopters. And you can’t help noticing that there is commonly a cross-species dependence, with certain individuals proving to be just as devoted to carousel organs as they are to traction engines. I once asked a lady of my acquaintance whether she had an explanation for all this. She looked at me pityingly and shook her head at my lack of understanding. “Potency” she said softly.

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