Last week flew by. I took my grandson along to the archery club Wednesday when he got back from school, and although there is a waiting list they let him have a taster evening which he really enjoyed. His uncle joined the same club eighteen years ago and probably owes the strength of his arms and an improved deportment (I bullied the girls not to slouch but I’m told I failed to bully Costa to sit up straight etc.) to the years he spent at target practice.
Much as I hate guns (and the fact that Sandy now owns two) I have a romantic feeling about the whole archery thing. Perhaps because it isn’t used to kill any more but to develop concentration, skill, muscle tone and that whole Zen thing. Perhaps because the traditional bows are beautiful in their craftsmanship. The same can’t be said of the compound bows which look like mechanical arms and have so many wheels, cogs, balancers etc. that they are regarded as a bit of a cheat by some afficianados of the art. They fire with such force that I expected the arrows to go through the back wall of the Community Centre.
I once thought of joining but now I think I might just embarass myself.
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