This post is being transcribed by my assistant Alicia*, as I picked up a couple of sporting injuries (pulled shoulder muscle, stiff neck, some knee-based grass stains) playing The Sport Of Kings this weekend. Can't go into details at this juncture, but topmilers were involved, and stickles were random.
Of course I left my cleft mitten in the team coach, like a fool, and there was no time to go back, but fortunately a French team were in the vicinity, and they let me borrow theirs between bouts. Not a perfect fit (the French have very small hands as a rule), and a little sweaty, but it had to do. First half very good, dropped a maison in the second, everything left to play for in the third, and then Vic pulled a spectacular Brenda Blethyn out of the bag at the last moment, freeing up the stickles a treat. One or two moans from the opposition, but that's all to be expected. And to their credit, Oliver Chris ran a beautifully-laundered nine-hand undermiler, the likes of which haven't been seen since the early days of Marcus Geisler**, only to come a cropper when he was ruled just a couple of inches over the sneddon.
The thing about Guyball it that it's really about mental strength rather than physical strength, or dexterity. Although I am dextrous. And physically very strong, so it would have been odd if we hadn't won. And we did win. End of play: eight maison to four, none of them looped. And that ain't bad.
* She's twenty four, Ruritanian, and quite beautiful. I originally hired her as a nanny, but it became increasingly and uncomfortably obvious that I didn't have any children, as such. But it seemed a shame to let her go.
**The Big Austrian.