The Conker King

The Conker King

Ed Thompson was the conker king.

We’d pierce the glossy skin
with skewers, thread the knotted string,
toughen them with vinegar.

It did no good. He’d always win.

We’d dangle the trembling string,
trying not to flinch, anticipating
the crack as Ed took aim to swing,

inflict the coup-de-grace:
our prized possessions
white bone fragments on the grass.

Saturday's blip sparked the above memory of playing conkers as a boy; Ed was the fastest runner, the fiercest tackler, the toughest fighter in our little pre-teen gang, the indisputable leader

Judging by the number of conkers lying under the tree here (OK, I re-arranged them a bit!) in our local park, conkers is not so popular anymore.

More prosaically, it was the monthly Old Gits' Coffee Morning today, so this blip was taken while trying to walk off some of the cake I was forced to consume.