Think this easter weekend has gotten to me a bit. It’s Bank Holiday Monday and whilst the rest of the country are enjoying the delights of getting stuck in traffic jams and throwing up at Alton Towers I am still here, at my desk looking out at the garden.
Another of the large landlord’s entourage was out today. It’s like a small (and dull) play happening before my very eyes.
He was practicing cricket, a boy of about 14/15 marveling in some fresh air and a sporting activity.
Problem was, that I said that out loud. The work’s been getting to me and any distraction is a well needed one. So I decided to commentate on the cricket for my own (admittedly not very amusing) amusement.
“A shite ball there, frankly he should have been able to hit that”…And…”The boy aims at the wicket, but misses like a girl”
After what seemed like five seconds, but was probably half an hour the boy’s playing got progressively worse, not the curve that educational books taught us about practice.
Then I realised.
My window was open…