I’m happy to report that I have rediscovered my superpower of staring. At school I was a brilliant starer. Whether it be staring out the window at the janitor trying to get footballs off the roof or staring at a pair of dogs getting at it in the playground, these were wonderful moments to enjoy, whilst Mrs Gibb demonstrated on the blackboard how to use a semi-colon. (I never did find out!)
“Ronnie Barbour, if you spent less time staring and more time learning you’d be a genius!”
We used to have staring competitions to see who could last the longest without blinking. I usually won although sometimes my concentration would be broken on seeing Miss Hinshelwood, our PE teacher, playing netball.
The rules of staring
Let’s be clear about ‘the stare’. It’s not a glance – a wee gander – a quick look. No, ’the stare’ is a fully committed engagement with a scene, or a subject that has initially attracted your attention and takes over your entire being. Minutes even hours can pass as you embrace the beauty, the peculiarity, or even the humour in what you can see.
Just the other day, while down at the river, I watched a man try to climb back onto his paddle board for a good half hour… eventually he gave up and was rescued by his wife in her canoe. It was a moment I will cherish. And one more rule, no phones or binoculars – they’re completely against the spirit of ‘the stare’!
The dangers of staring
Staring is not for everyone. In fact, being stared at is not everyone’s cup of tea. One Saturday night in Ayr, I stared at a bouncer at the dancing and the evening ended with me being assaulted. He was wearing a badly fitting toupee and, to be frank, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. He saw me fully engaged with the toupee…
“Whit ur you starin at?”
And before I could answer he head butted me. Luckily the back of the toupee wasn’t stuck down and the motion of his head catapulted it forward and cushioned the blow to my nose. Now please don’t be discouraged by this tale and do carry on staring but make sure you don’t get spotted by a bouncer in Ayr.
Scotland is a staring country
We’re very lucky in Scotland, we have beautiful sights to stare at. It’s almost as if God got up one morning in a good mood and thought,
‘I’m going to make something beautiful.’
And he gave us Scotland. Long, long views where you can stand and stare in complete wonder of what you see before your eyes. Other folk will soon join you in a communal stare but it’s wise to keep the conversation to a minimum because it might detract from the staring experience.
Regular staring
One of my pals is a superb starer and very often he’ll get in touch and tell me of a new building site that has just started. He’ll pick me up in the car and off we go, excited about a new scenario. We love staring at men working. Manual work – up and down ladders – drilling holes – walking along wobbly scaffold. It’s all such a joy!
To be fair, I’ve always found manual work fascinating because I’ve never done it. I think the only blister I ever got on my hand was from a croquet stick. After a time, the workmen get to know us and sometimes they’ll ask us in for a sandwich and a blether. And during our conversation you realise that these good folk can’t wait to become starers when they retire. We’ll welcome them into the fold when they do.
Stand and stare
So, what are you waiting for? Staring is free. You don’t have to dress up for it, and a fresh stare is waiting for you just around the corner – out the window – at the art gallery. Fill your staring boots. But please don’t stare at the telly, that won’t do you any good.
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