Took a detour through the woods on my way to the university library. Almost got killed by a golfer – CLANK! , right behind me- as I trotted along the borders of the golf course. He , the fool , was practising ; ball whizzed in a net – life saved by string . Golfers are a blase bunch of listless pensioned bussinessmen and mongolic superabundant ‘club-necks’. Our venerable global community is too obsessed with ball -related activities ; must be some scientific thing, probably quasi-testicular. Second attempt: Almost got run down by a reckless mountain biker . The helmet jerked his head in greeting ( a spasm) , probably felt too good to waste his voice on me. A bike has ball-bearings , I think.

Dog owners , I must confess , are not in the least my favorite human sub-species ; I profess a healthy disregard of this kind of being and this must , by unpleasant logical necessity , include my parents. The particular example I encountered today took a noxious dog whistle out of his belt pouch and began to blow desperately SHRIEK! come COME HERE he….HERE!. Dog owners , in a bid to govern their dogs , are governed by their dogs. It happens all the time . You can perceive the ‘ paradigm shift ‘ in the palour of their skin – that of an ulcerous liverish dog tongue . An existence reduced to the regular dispensation of doggy sweets on growl command ; a costly affair too. Middle-aged women with dogs usually have chemically purpled hair .

St.Augustine , I think , once wrote something like this :

We are the cause of our own sickness – seeking happiness where it is absent.

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