The 'wooooo' gene …

Alright. I feel we’ve known each other for long enough that I can level with you about something. It’s not something I’ve ever spoken about publicly before because I’m aware that there’s a certain stigma attached to the condition. When one person in a family has this particular genetic mutation, they are often given the cold shoulder, mocked and removed from the annual round-robin Xmas card distribution list.

And what is this ailment I hear you ask? Well, it’s like this – I don’t have a ‘wooooo’ gene. The wooooo gene is a genetic marker on the same long-chain of DNA as the self-consciousness gene. Its presence (or rather the lack of its presence) usually manifests itself at a very early stage – indeed many sufferers report that they first realised they were missing the wooooo gene on a school trip.

The wooooo gene is a quirk of nature that enables people to marvel in the natural world, big things, basically anything that’s out of the ordinary. To explain further let me relate a true incident to you. Towards the end of last year I was on surf patrol at my local beach. It was a very pleasant day, but the beach wasn’t very crowded because earlier on there’d been a thunderstorm and the holiday-makers had gone to KFC instead. As I sat in the radio room tower I noticed a whale breaching the water, no more than 300m from where I was standing. Then, a few seconds later, the whale’s calf breached too. The pair of them proceeded to play, slapping the water with their fins as they slowly proceeded south on their annual migration to the Antarctic feeding grounds.

Later on that evening, I casually mentioned to my lovely wife, the appearance of said whales on the beach. She was aghast and wanted to know why I hadn’t phoned her. There were a couple of reasons for that – the first was that by the time she’d got there they’d have been long gone, but the main reason was that I was nonplussed by the whales. Unlike many of the people on the beach, who stood there in awe of the whales, I lack a wooooo gene and so while I was happy to watch them, I didn’t feel the need to trample fellow spectators underfoot in order to get a better view. If you’re planning on going on a dolphin watch cruise then bring me along – I couldn’t give a rat’s arse if I see any or not and so you can guarantee that while everyone else is over the other side of the boat, I’ll have the entire pod whistling the theme tune to the Great Escape while balancing on their tails on my side.

Sometimes I have been know to fake a ‘wooooo’. If I know that it’s something my wife and/or son are very into I’ll put on my pretend wooooo face. For instance, whenever we visit the blowhole in Kiama, I have to put on a good wooooo for my son. I have a great deal of trouble understanding the thrill of watching a jet of water emerge from within some rocks, but that’s okay – just because I lack a wooooo gene does not mean I begrudge other people their kicks.

Now please don’t mistake my lack of a wooooo gene for some underlying fuddy-duddy-ness. If there’s an adventure to be had, then sign me up, but please make sure that it really is an adventure. I find it difficult to go wooooo with regard any form of wildlife or plant-life. Fairground rides and their hermetically enclosed thrills probably won’t illicit a wooooo. I’ve never been a big sports fan, so there are very few sporting moments that would ever illicit a wooooo from me. Some overpaid nance just kicked a pigskin round three other overpaid nances and between two posts and I’m supposed to get all wooooo about it? I don’t think so. Fireworks? Nah. Floral clocks? Nope. Sword swallowing? Oh please.

The irony is that my wife, my wife’s parents, my son and, for the most part, my own parents – are amongst the biggest wooooo’ers I’ve met. I recall an incident about 10 years ago when Liz and I went to a charming countryside pub outside Bath. As we pulled into the car park, Liz noticed a field of dairy cattle and said, “Ahhhhhh baby cows.” I said, “They’re calves, not baby cows,” and laughed to myself at how anyone could find anything as dull as a calf interesting. Then Liz’s parents turn up and Liz said, “Look dad – baby cows,” and David (for that is her father’s name) said to Liz’s mother, “Look Marion! Baby cows!” Then the three of them proceeded to stand at the fence and make that universal animal attracting noise (sort of sucking noise against the teeth) in the hope of attracting the ‘baby cows’ over to them. Meanwhile I sat on the grassy verge quietly weeping into my manly calloused hands.

If you know of a fellow sufferer then please take pity on them. It you take them on a wildlife cruise just accept the fact that they’re going to be underwhelmed by the critters and take more interest in the logistics of morbidly obese women using the cramped onboard dunny. In the mean time I’m thinking of setting up a support group.