(Simplistic answer: no contest.)*
admire the lovely photo I took this morning. Take it all in whilst thinking “What the hell is ol’ Argie on about this time?”.
The scene is that as I entered Queens Park this morning—dull day, frosty start—I took off my sunglasses and clagged them into the closing strap of my camera case. Then I bimbled about the park with chilly abandonment, snapping the nothing much this season provides. Feeling a need for solace I went to the ‘Cheeky Lama’ and bought a portable coffee; then having guzzled same I emerged by upper RHS park bench intent on the nearest rubbish bin.
I strolled direct to that wee bugger and popped my empty in. So far, so good …
I THEN WENT
up that road looking for targets of opportunity.
I soon became aware of an uneasy feeling that I should be going this way, not that … and without intending it found that I was retracing my very same steps across the grass from that bench seat to the bin. Weird.
Then I made an observation: only one set of hoofprints—mine—yet right there was a pair of sunglasses, lying on the wet grass and across my very tracks.
They looked just like mine.
Fumbling fingers reported a vacancy back to the brain, which promptly redirected vision downwards to the clag-strap (now vacant) on my camera case. Dammit, they were mine, and I hadn’t even known they’d sneaked off.
I put them on and angled away across the grass so as not to meet up with the nice people coming the other way on the road now staring hard at me. It may not seem important but The Spouse is very tolerant of all my foibles although I am forever losing my blasted sunglasses … here’s a closer-up—
—witnessing an ability I didn’t know I have. Most ‘psychics’ fall into my deluded category, but sunglasses and other things aside I do have an uncanny ability with golf balls.
I’ve tried all the rational analyses I can think of (that I normally apply to other cranks) to no avail. I don’t know how I duz it, I just duz it. At home, in egg cartons, I have about a hundred and twenty golf balls.
Last year I gave away more than that to some guy I met when prowling the actual golfing course—got chatting, he mentioned that he kept losing them so I got his address and bimbled around that night and left cartons overflowing his mailbox.
I CAN BE WALKING
and suddenly know that I will find one. I go over and tucked away completely invisible (until found) will be a ball.
I DON’T EVEN PLAY
golf. I have absolutely no interest in golf. I fully agree with the person who famously stated that golf “…is a good walk, spoiled.”
AND WHEN I FOUND
my sunspecs this morning I had no idea I’d lost them. I very rarely (if ever) retrace my steps in the park.
Do I have a sixth sense? Brrrrrr …
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy
—amen to that.
* Catchy headline, though …