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In order to go on living one must try to escape the death involved in perfectionism.


Zen and the art of getting closest to the jack. Buckingham Bowls Club, New Town. March 2011.

I used to play bowls once. It’s a fine game, but – as with most sports – very much dependent on the selection of your team mates.

Give me uncoordinated and generally useless – but pleasant – colleagues over skilled, talented and hungry – but aggravating – contemporaries any day of the week.

Except Saturdays.

Saturdays are serious.
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Roddy said…
Five what? A conundrum for your readers!
4 March 2011 at 06:35
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