Last night as I was just about to slob in front of the telly for the night, there was a knock at the door. There was Kev, eldest son of the local village 'mafia boss', aka the president of the bowls club and a life long serving member of the community along with his ex, his current and his kids etc etc. Anyway, Kev asked me how I spell my surname. Why I asked. Well he said, you've won a cup at bowls.
I was truly shocked.
Those who are aware of my playing skills will know that although the competitive spirit is alive and well, sadly the ability has a long way to go to catch up. This has become even more apparent as the carpet bowls played in the Borders is a completely different game to that played up North. So effectively this is the very first year I have ever attempted to play this very weird version, which is a bit like curling on carpet without the brushes or the stones; or alternatively like marbles without the marbles. Small wooden bowls are used that have no bias at all, but remarkably the carpet seems to make up for that in a big way. And I'm pretty useless at it.
Apparently I played a game with a person called Darren some months back, and we won. The fact that I can't remember either Darren nor the game is somewhat worrying. I do remember going to a club night where I was put with one guy who sighed every time I threw my bowl, so I spent most of the night saying sorry, and I was aware that we did quite well. But I wasn't aware we had won. Apart from that night I'm at a loss to remember another occasion.
Maybe I am suffering from early onset dementia (something that I regularly think about, but then promptly forget), or after all there is something strange going on in the Auld Kirk. My preference is for the latter, and I'm sticking to it.
I suggest that more tonic should be added to the gin...
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