Conkering.

Conkers - I'd almost forgotten about them. Riding a motorcycle or driving various four wheelers in recent years, Horse Chestnuts to give them their proper title, didn't feature much. I might notice a few squashed examples on the road surface, but then my attention would flick back to whatever else was going on on the road. But out for a bimble and en route to some local woods yesterday, I came across the green knobbly seed casings, and the shiny contents themselves, the conkers.

An exciting sight in my childhood.

Conkers were a big thing in childhood, and the first sighting of them on the ground would lead to some frenzied stick throwing into the trees to encourage more to drop. Pockets would be stuffed full and the catch taken home to be prepared for combat in the school playground.

Some would be baked in the oven, others soaked in vinegar, still more set aside for the following year, as age hardens them apparently, but I never did find out for sure as I'd either forget where I stored the previous year's cache, or they were secretly thrown out by a parent. Once some sure fire world beaters were picked, holes were carefully made in them, usually with a meat skewer in my case, and string threaded through, ready for the white heat of fierce competition.

Some local woods were the target for the ride.

Conkers is a simple game, but of course, of vital importance to one's reputation and playground prestige. It was usually extremely disappointing for me though, as my favoured weapon was often smashed to smithereens under the impact from some weedy looking kid's 'two'er' or 'three'er'. Failure would often result in accusations of brazen cheating - “That's not a conker you git, that's a dwarf cannonball” but there were no stewards to initiate an enquiry or dish out suitable punishments, you just had to take it on the chin, (then try and nick the kid's victorious conker while his back was turned). There was also the pain of rapped knuckles, and if the conkers tangled then the striker could expect to get at least two fingers painfully constricted by the suddenly tightening coarse string wrapped around them. The clever kids used long shoe laces which were less abrasive to juvenile skin. I hated the clever kids.

Plenty of pine cones around too, but they are no match for a good conker. You can't play extreme sports with a pine cone, nor ward off invading critters. A conker makes a good missile as well, the aero shape and heavy mass lending themselves to such activities, but a pine cone makes for a poor impact with its light weight and bulky shape. Nope, conkers are where it's at.

Some schools have banned games of conkers now, for fear of being sued should a kid get injured in some fashion, probably by being blinded by a flying piece of shell. Where's the fun in that? The adrenaline rush of danger is all part of sport for the players, and the chance of seeing a kid lose an eye right in front of you... well... how cool would that be? That was a possibility not to be missed, so you'd make sure you got right in close when watching a contest, and squinted, just in case the shrapnel came your way. Many were the battles that took place in the middle of a circle of eagerly expectant kids, all screwing their faces up in unison as the striker took aim.

Another report though suggested one school's ban wasn't for health and safety reasons, but because it encourages feelings of superiority as victorious players lord it up over their defeated class mates, and we can't have winners and losers in modern touchy feely society can we? My thoughts on such policies, and the pallid, lilly livered, hand wringing types that come up with them, aren't for airing here, as my swear box is overflowing as it is and the internet is far too polite a place for such bitter and eye wateringly strong language.

All these things were racing through my head as I rode on, and I might yet return to the scene and fill my pockets once more. Not to start playing again, I'm a bit old for that, but because Spiders are supposed to hate conkers, and their presence in a house will deter the bandy legged beasties from entering. I'm all for anything that keeps the hairy arsed beggars out believe me. I'd shoot them with a twelve bore shotgun if I could, both barrels too, you have to make sure after all. Either that or they're just crap at playing the game and don't like to be reminded, but for whatever reason, conkers do the business on Spiders apparently, and that has to be a good thing.

Bimbling about in the local woods.

So that's Conkers - vastly under rated sources of cheap sporting endeavour and useful Arachnid repellents.