Tuesday, 21 April 2009
Find The Fault No 9
The only time I attempted something like this is probably still talked about at Gillingham Ice Rink. It's too embarrassing to go into here, but it involved screaming skaters desparately trying to get out of the way of a big bloke in a red jumper travelling at an incredibly inappropriate speed, totally out of control. These mass sports have always caused me trouble. Ten Pin Bowling for instance. What's that all about? If you're really good at it, as everybody else always appears to be, you knock all those skittle things down with one ball every time. So what's the point. "Let's go bowling" someone says, always after everybody has sunk a shed-load of drink at a Christmas lunch. No thankyou, I don't want to have to take my shoes off at three thirty in the afternoon. I get so cross I want to wave a gun about like John Goodman does at the bowling alley in The Big Lebowski. No, bowling should be about gently rolling one down a greensward, pipe in mouth, faint applause from a weatherboarded pavilion with a clock on it. Which is absolutely nothing to do with this week's picture.