Once upon a time...

... there was a little blue golf ball.  It lived at the bottom of a big bag at the High Wycombe Croquet Club.  It could not remember how a golf ball came to live at a croquet club, but it did not mind because lots of other golf balls lived in the same big bag.  Secretly, this ball was a little bit vain, because its blue was a bright and shiny colour and it also a No 1 in painted on it, which made it feel -- well, like a Number One.

One sunny afternoon,  the big bag was picked up and shaken around. This was quite usual on a Monday and a Friday, so the little blue golf ball was not alarmed.  In fact it looked forward to it, because it knew that the next thing that would happen would be a hand coming down into the big bag and the little blue golf ball being lifted right out of the bag and into the afternoon sunshine.  "Oh, good", someone said. That made the little blue golf ball feel happy. and it waited to go back into the bag as usual.

But no.

This time, the little blue golf ball found itself put into somewhere different.  A coat pocket!  The coat pocket started to move.  It was very exciting.  "This is probably because I am a No 1", thought the little blue golf ball to itself and it settled down to its new experience.  Sometimes the coat moved, sometimes it stayed very still until there was a loud Crack, and then the coat moved again.  "This is most interesting", thought the little blue golf ball.  

​Later that afternoon, things became even more interesting.  Some more movement, then there was a loud humming noise and the little blue golf ball in the coat pocket could feel itself moving faster than ever before.  The humming noise lasted half an hour, then stopped.  The little blue golf ball felt a hand patting the outside of the coat pocket. Then a hand came down into the coat pocket and lifted the little blue golf ball out into the sunshine.  The little blue golf ball heard a single, short word that it did not understand because it had never heard it before.  Then it was put back into the coat pocket, which is where it still lies for the present.

But it misses the big bag at the nice croquet club.  And it hopes it will be taken back there before long.  

Which it will.

Chris Webbley (with apologies to Geoff and all the rollers-uppers)               

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