I went squashing on Sunday with Lady B and Sir Bob Niceandeasy. Originally Lady B was going to join us both, we'd just take it in turn playing against each other. However, following the purchase of some rather tight high waist trousers, Lady B has become rather self conscious with regard to the dimensions of her lovely backside. Thus, she chose to molest one of those horrid treadmills which makes you seasick instead, leaving me and Sir Bob to it as it were.
Previously, I and Lady B had practiced for several sessions, and I had had my ass handed to me repeatedly in this capacity. However, to family and friends I have consistently claimed to have won with the counterproductive effect that no one really trusts my representation of the outcome of such battles. Imagine my despair, then, when I went on to beat Sir Bob 5 games to 1 (bearing in mind that the blighter was Lady B's Nestor and revered idol of le monde de squash)!
Sir Bob, having put up stiff resistance and showed admittedly superior skill, found diving for the ball less appealing and indeed physically defensible than I did, high as I was on adrenaline and fear of losing. In a nerve racking final set we went head to head, although not literally, at 10-10. I succeeded in placing two sneaky, hard ones above the lower line, the kind of strikes that makes enemies. However, Sir Bob, being of a humorous and easy-going nature took his loss with a smile and was seemingly more than happy to escape the wretched den.
Despite threatening to denounce my claim to fame as fraudulent, he, as the sportsman he is, lamented his loss to an incredulous Lady B. However, it seems to be untrue that sportsmen get all the girls; the evening was spent showing off with Lady B preferring to retreat into the world of three prostitutes and their mom in New York (that is, the infamous HBO product "Gaining carnal knowledge in the urban areas")