Let's bowl, Let's bowl!

Last night, we bowled. And it was really fun, and I enjoyed myself. I took on my random ‘right handed bowling despite being a left hander’ and managed to get 3 strikes….yes 3! The rest ended up in the gutter, but who cares; let’s focus on the glory moments.

It has to be said, I have been slightly apprehensive about bowling in recent years and this is probably, well, certainly, down to a little incident I had with my ex boyfriend, affectionately known as Danny V.

One lovely weekend during our tumultuous relationship we visited Coventry to see some of his old university friends. In total 3 couples. The Sunday was rainy and overcast so we decided to go bowling to pass the time. Bowling, in our couples in a little competition seemed a light hearted and fun thing to do, so off we went. Me and Danny V against the world.

From then, my memories are a little fuzzy and clouded due to my extreme anger. Being a left hander, and a confused one at that, I was bowling with a different hand each time, just to mix it up a little. My first few bowls were pretty good, I knocked down a few pins and at one point even picked up a spare. Then it came to Dan’s turn. He whizzed up the erm ‘path’, and powered the ball down the alley with an expect flick of the wrist, completed by a gay and rather jaunty little flicked up leg, kind of crossed over the other one at the back. You’ve watched King Pin, you know what I’m on about.

Strike one! We’re in the lead. Jubilation, hi-fives and happy beaming smiles. It’s then that Danny V drops into conversation that he was in fact ‘Under Fifteens County Bowling Champion’ for East Sussex. No wonder he was keen to go bowling, bloody show off. I felt quite proud in a way, and it was nice to be on the winning team. The only slight problem being that the ‘winning’ part, depended partly on me, keeping our end up.

Unfortunately, it turned out my bowling was sporadic at best and the more under pressure I felt, the worse I became, until eventually I was sidling up the alley, red faced, slumped shoulders and dejectedly dumping my ball on the lane and watching it gradually mooch along to it’s inevitable conclusion, the gutter. I really wasn’t having any fun at all. And then, something happened. I turned around and saw Dan’s cheeks, flushed with anger, and all of a sudden he lost it. Big time.

He shouted at the top of his voice, in the megabowl, at around 2.35pm, surrounded by 11years old….

’"Ali, you’re a f**king sp*stic!!!!"

I don’t think I need to continue this posting, or comment, but all I need to say is that the relationship ground to a swift halt soon after. And I wasn’t the one in tears. Loser.