Bowled Over

What options were there left open to me?I had always played sport, well almost always, up untilabout ten years ago when sciatica finally made me realiseI could no longer chase a football around a sports hall ora tennis ball about a court. Nowadays, my level of fitnessseemed to be determined not by how far or fast I couldrun, but more by my ability to pick the soap up from theshower floor or painlessly put on my socks in the morning.I was in my early sixties, but after a decade of inactivity andapproaching early retirement, I was still harbouring a desireto play some sport. In mid-April on a stroll into town, Inoticed a small poster on a garden gate advertising an openmorning at the local bowls club.I mentioned it to my wife Dolly, as she had been going onfor years about us joining something together, so it seemeda fair compromise; despite never having any interest in sport,she was rather keen at the prospect.It all seemed rather appealing, what could be more Englishthan playing bowls on a sunny summer's afternoon.Yes, it seemed perfect ... what could possibly go wrong?