Horatio writes: This was told to us by a friend of ours from Montreal who does not normally dabble in one-upmanship, but this tale is a fine counter to the tennis loving Texan, Kevin Avon.
At least Kevin Aron was aided by electronically generated televisuals in his efforts to visit his "happy place." Mine were far more primitive. I had to view my next door neighbor's knickers hanging out to dry on the washing line which I would spend hours examining in excruciating detail, thanks to the magnifying power of my grandmother's binoculars. Though heavy, I could manage to hold them with one hand and go to work with my other, whilst staring at the polyester knick-knicks gently wafting in the wind. The hardest part? Putting the fact that the binoculars had that musty smell peculiar only to my grandmother out of my mind.