Les Boules Des Chiens

Banned twice, responsible for the deaths of 38 people, the deadly game of Boules has a checkered past indeed. So it was with some trepidation that I joined Au Savage and friends for the 'Boule D'or', a bare knuckle bout of ball hurling and piglet crushing which soon took its toll on us all. La Cicciolina of the ladies team was the first to fall, suffering a vicious ankle injury which sorely hampered her usually stellar form. Having observed her discreetly from behind a bench, I cunningly mimicked her elegant stance and added a few stylistic flourishes of my own. The final look was what I'd call 'la teapot petit'; one hand behind the back for balance, the ball hand extending trunk-like ahead of the body, boule cupped downwards in the palm to facilitate back spin. While this may sound fairly ridiculous to observe, I'm confidant I blended into the crowd, as all around me were crouchers, danglers, mincers and swashers of varying degrees of skill (including my own team mates, like the gurner pictured here). Having made short work of the ladies, Team Chien took on two other crews, but sadly choked in both games and carelessly tossed away their chance for glory. Probably just as well, as the pub was growing more alluring by the second and our enthusiasm waning horribly. Needless to say, a jolly time was had by all. I must also take this opportunity to point out that the ham rolls were most delicious and without a doubt saved the day, ahem! I did notice on Sunday morning however, an unfamiliar aching in my left tricep which has now been diagnosed as 'boule arm'. This severe affliction adds to the historical litany of pain and disaster that haunts this game. I just hope I'm able to lift a glass again, otherwise the cheese eating surrender monkeys will be hearing from my lawyers.

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