Tuesday, March 01, 2005
My picture nails were not strong enough to put the dartboard up in the hall. It’ll have to stay in Marty’s room for now. We could have been playing now, I could have given my famous “natural ability”* an airing; instead I’m half-watching Arsenal against Sheffield Wednesday. And all for the want of a masonry nail.
* In Venezuela I played darts with a Canadian man who had set up a bar there. When he heard I was English he couldn’t believe that I had never played before. He proclaimed me “a natural”. For a while I toyed with the idea of training and turning pro. I could have become the David Beckham of darts, transcend its usual audience and bring in a new crowd. The dream’s still there, somewhere, beneath that something sufficiently toad-like that squats in me, its hunkers heavy as hard luck, and cold as snow. If I’m not careful my charming Bob Cratchett could become a loathsome Ebenezer Scrooge. Eternal vigilance is essential. And has anyone read Dickens’s The Chimes? It’s rubbish.
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* In Venezuela I played darts with a Canadian man who had set up a bar there. When he heard I was English he couldn’t believe that I had never played before. He proclaimed me “a natural”. For a while I toyed with the idea of training and turning pro. I could have become the David Beckham of darts, transcend its usual audience and bring in a new crowd. The dream’s still there, somewhere, beneath that something sufficiently toad-like that squats in me, its hunkers heavy as hard luck, and cold as snow. If I’m not careful my charming Bob Cratchett could become a loathsome Ebenezer Scrooge. Eternal vigilance is essential. And has anyone read Dickens’s The Chimes? It’s rubbish.
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