Back in the day, my grandpa would always open the car door for my grandma. Getting out and getting in. Even just pulling up at the Edithvale Coles, traditionally my Poppa would walk (later he shuffled) around the other side of the car to let her out, and he always unlocked her side first when they went to the garage. This was both before central locking and before they got really old – after which he was doing well to shuffle himself to his own side of the vehicle.
While it lasted though, there was something really endearing about it, and I’ve always found something touching and sincere about old fashioned manners.
I guess I’m nostalgic for a nicer day and I like the sentimental favourite. Which is why I was a little sad to see the Thin Man Himself jump his chain while attacking Senor Contador. And for Senor Contador to continue up the hill while the Thin Man Himself was looking bemused and pissed off at the unfolding circumstances.
(AFP)There’s plenty of opinions and many justified noses out of joint. Schleck’s not the least of them.
Some are trying to keep their eyes on the stage and feel that Voeckler has much to be congratulated for, glossing the shine on the French riders’ performances this Tour around.
(Bettini)
Others are distracted by the collateral damage. I certainly am. Look at that poor dead flesh coloured lump. Horrible.
(Sirotti)
For my mind, I’ve lost interest in whether or not Contador could see that Schleck was in a “mechanical” (I think he did, or at least the radio/satelittle/Eye in Moscow could see, but in the heat of the moment he attacked and so be it), or whether or not SaxoBank are getting a little bit whiny about arrangements, or if cycling is the poorer for the loss of great unspoken etiquettes.
I’ve loved this race and this is just another exciting chapter in its unfolding. This is a cycling race and sometimes chain drops happen. Not every race goes to the strong, some just go to the wily and opportunistic. But in the end, I don’t much care.
I just remember my grandma and grandpa, how lovely and gentle they were when they were still the full kit and caboodle. How nice manners really are. How we have lost those quiet tokens of generosity and authentic care. As hokey as some may seem – and I’ll acknowledge that my grandpa was a bit of a sexist pig in other ways – some manners are nice to retain.
May we note their passing and move with the times.
Rest assured, when I see you break down on Cardigan St, I will offer you my support as meagre as it may seem.
eleanor j jackson 