THIS UN-SPORTING LIFE

Recollections from the past seem to be coming thick and fast, just now. Maybe, the approaching 6-0 is freeing-up my long-term memory, just as the short-term version seems to be freezing-up!

Anyway…

Sitting on a shady bench in the park the other day as a school Sports Day hopped-skipped-and-jumped through an otherwise idyllic afternoon, a truly terrible remembrance crept out of the Mists That Time Forgot and sat down suddenly and coldly on my heart.

I was six-years-old again and had been picked to run in the three-legged-race attached to Robert L---, who had even less of the sporting spirit than I…

BANG! goes the starting pistol!

All the other duos start cooperatively hobbling across the sun-bleached grass towards the far-off chalky line. But, before I can taken even a single step, Robert L--- instantly sits down and starts rolling around, giggling…

I hear cruel snickering laughter mingling with the honest open-throated cheers of the onlookers as I struggle to undo the school-tie that binds our ankles together, whilst unsuccessfully attempting to keep my balance…

The ignominy! The shame!

That, I think, was the day when I first knew that I would never run for England…