Last week in a children’s playground I saw a little girl turn a cartwheel. It was such a light easy charming revolution that I thought it can’t be that hard. So I thought my summer’s task could be to learn to do a cartwheel.
That was about ten day’s ago. I haven’t given it a go yet. In the park yesterday I felt the urge to step out onto the grass and follow my instincts but I didn’t. The problems crowded in upon me. I don’t want to bang my head. |I don’t like banging my head. And imagine the momentum required to push my 82kg over. And imagine the ugliness of a grotesque flailing cartwheel. I’ve come unstuck on stuff like this before. Once, leaping over a fence, confusing how spry I used to be with how less spry I now am, and my foot snagging on the top of the wire. Which me will emerge when I attempt that cartwheel? Maybe I’ll see over the next few days…

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