I only got one shot at the duck before the wind picked up, leaving it dead in the water.
I've been ejected from the golf course management degree (even though I never hit a golf ball). It wasn't only the constant fear of being hit by a ball, it was all the fertilizer I inhaled from the greens. I'm now studying 'Pataphysics, the science of the particular, the science of 'laws governing exceptions'. I've swapped golf holes (green holes) for Black holes.
Tuesday, 12 October 2010
The Duck Pond
Boris Vian’s ‘The Froth of the Daydream’ must have left an impression, far beyond the Pils-paved streets of Freiburg (see last blog). Because recently, whilst in Wales (a country known for its blubber – Dawn French, Dylan Thomas, Tom Jones, Welsh Cakes), I once more found myself focusing on foam. 'Foam Cut To Size', but I could hardly believe my eyes, as one foam led to another, and in no time at all I found myself staring into a duck pond.
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