Hanging loose

I am sometimes confounded by the expressions of the English language. Take for example the phrase "hanging loose". My English teacher would have banished this phrase into the dark corner of slang, where there were, according to her, much gnashing of the teeth. Of course it means to be idle; spending time doing absolutely nothing; existing as an oxygen thief. It can also mean to take off time from the daily business that tends to make one up tight in the areas of the upper lip, the anus and the sense of humour. It means lazing on a Sunday afternoon, or perhaps, as in this case, a Saturday, Sunday and Monday afternoon - a whole long weekend. What completely blissful and utterly unproductive three days these were. What, hanging loose certainly had its evolutionary soup concocted in tranquil pools of days such as these.

There is a certain sense of mischief hiding behind the trappings of hanging loose. In the male context, hanging loose has a particular anatomical meaning to it. In fact, lazing on a Sunday afternoon, wearing loose beach trunks without the normal constraints of underwear adds a special meaning to hanging loose. It is a very male phrase – I doubt whether women have the same appreciation of walking about without the usual constraints in the upper department. I would not know. But I do know there is a certain sense of freedom to be hanging loose in that very male sense. Suitable visions of Free Willy can be conjured at this point.

So, whether sexist or just plain juvenile, I do have a sense of pride in hanging it loose as a male. This weekend, I hung loose in a manner of speaking rather than in a manner of clothing. Come to think of it – what wasted opportunity; I should have put on my swimming trunks and made it for the local Windsor Village pool, which has opened today, as tradition insists.

But I had other plans – a braai as we South Africans call it. A splendid braai it turned out too. Pity, my mate Leslie could not attend. He was not quite well. And Aaron had to leave early due to threatening storms on the home front.

But Saturday afternoon was the most splendid of all. Leslie and I went up Prospect Hill and caught a spectacular sunset in all its splendour. The grandeur of Nature makes the best temples of all. Hanging loose in the presence of such artistic display is indeed a sacred moment well spent, saved in a bottle for a rainy day.