Dear all,
This post is overdue - much like my most recent Amazon delivery.
Now look, I think we can all agree that 99% of the time it’s a seamlessly perfect system that amazes and delights - poetry in motion. But I’m afraid it’s the 1% that lets the side down. You’re only as good as your last delivery, and if that’s the case then let’s just call the whole thing off - what a filthy, honking disappointment. Just like that time Ouseph and I queued to be in The One Show audience, only to be shown the exit door because my thermos flask contravened the rule guide - extremely frustrating.
Delivery cock ups and Pitkin meltdowns aside, what a time it is to be alive. Forget Brexit bullshine, let’s focus on the positives: 2020 is soon to rear its beautiful face, and I’m ready to toss my shiny kugel all over the country. Next year will be a boules-fest like no other, as the BAFBA-inspired ‘Boules or Nothing’ book hits the shelves and membership continues to soar like the wind - what better use of your time could you possibly be using your time for?
Ok, I admit, I have also been throwing a heavier type of ball recently, as I’ve been flirting with my local tenpin-bowling team, but it’s just not the same. I even had to throw deliberately poorly at one meet just to dampen the overtures and praise knocking on my door - it was all getting too friendly, and I missed the competitive dynamite of a local Bastard that raises the heart rate and fires the nostrils.
Well, ok, yes, my head was turned, but only briefly. And only to see if the grass was any greener on the other side of the paddock. I can confirm that it is NOT any greener than the lush pastures of BAFBA. Indeed, some bowling alleys smell like shoe-smell, only covered in anti-shoe smell spray, which smells worse than shoes.
Let’s call it a score draw. My head is full of boules, and I’m back in the game.
Right, must dash, Ouseph and I are off out tonight for a Thai meal, so I need to eat something before I go out.
Keep going everyone, one day this is all we’ll have to look back on.
Merry Crimblebum!
Pitkin
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