SIX INTO TWO DOES GO
Five weeks abroad, one game of golf, I needed to do some catching up. Could I remember all that I had learnt prior to my sabbatical in foreign lands? The ‘banana ball’ shot off the tee had almost been extinguished from my repertoire and I was in need to prove this to myself. The first Wednesday back with the irregular eight saw the usual early start. Dark mornings and ringing alarms reminded me of my many years rising for work. First, there was the analogue wind-up clock with tinny bell, where the response would be to whack the button hard, make it stop, then turn over for a 5 minute snooze, glancing only briefly at the frosted bedroom window. Next came the parent’s teasmade, given as a gift, only to discover the tea made was luke warm and acrid, never to be used again as a tea maker. Quickly followed by the digital am fm radio alarm, guaranteed to go off when you least expected it, bringing us to the present day where Alexa or OK Google is told to “shut the . . . . up” because t...