This will hurt me...

Continuing our adventures in Richmond, here Ezra contemplates sacrificing his bread roll to the ducks while negotiating a particularly dangerous variation of the Eka Pada Rajakapotasana II A.K.A. the One-Legged King Pigeon Pose II.

The Bhagavad Gita always helped my forehand draw. Buckingham Bowls Club, New Town. March 2011. Oh how I would love to have had W.B. Yeats for dinner! Pan fried in a bit of garlic butter, I think. The Lake Isle of Innisfree , by W.B. Yeats I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings. I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray, I hear it in the deep heart's core.

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.