Bowled over

Today was bowling day, bowling day. B-b-b-b-b-b-b-bowling day. Yes, we all piled down to Brighton marina to wear silly shoes and attempt to sprain our wrists.

Our reputation preceded us, of course, as the staff sent us off to the furthest lane in the building; not wanting us to show the other patrons up with our professional prowess, naturally. To further handicap us, they made sure the lane malfunctioned from the outset: firstly, the kiddy-rails wouldn’t retract; still, the ever-attentive staff were on hand to fix the problem. Sadly, this created another in the process, as the lane didn’t reset and we were left hanging; Little Blubs having already taken her first shot. Again, this was dealt with in what seemed like the blink of an eye, once we’d used the handy Service Call button; 15 times, in fact, before resorting to going back to reception where a varying sequence of gesticulations and noises finally explained the problem to the blank-eyed bowl-monkeys.

All this had the desired effect on our game: meaning we couldn’t have hit a day-glo elephant silhouetted by a brightly lit barn-door. Only Mr. Cheese seemed to have not been at all phased by the whole affair and went on to win by a fairly sizeable margin.

A little fresh air was needed after this so we wandered around the marina complex for a while.