The Shrunken Head

While the barbecue was cooling down, I went to the shed to look for a ball.

It felt like the right time for a game of catch, to loosen everyone up and build appetites.

There was so much junk in that shed. It was in desperate need of a clear out; possibly even beyond desperate, whatever the next stage along from desperate is.

While I was digging around, I thought I’d finally found a ball in among the junk.

Something felt not quite right when I pulled the ball out by the hair. I’m not aware of many balls that have hair.

As I turned it over in my hands, I discovered that what I’d actually happened upon was a shrunken head.

I’m not sure how I hadn’t ever noticed it before – it definitely wasn’t mine; I’d never owned a shrunken head.

Putting it to one side, I carried on looking for a ball.

I don’t know how many balls I’ve bought in my life – tennis balls, footballs, basketballs, ping pong balls, golf balls, squash balls, cricket balls, rugby balls, hamster balls, a pétanque set, a volleyball, for some reason – and yet I could not find a single ball.  Not even a beach ball.

I was about to give up when my eye settled again upon the shrunken head . . .

*

It took everyone a while to get use to handling the grisly thing, but after a while the shrunken head added a unique excitement to the game. Like playing hot potato.

We even gave the head a name: Bobby, after Bobby Ball – to whom it had no resemblance, except for the slightly wispy curly mullet.

After everyone went home, I couldn’t bring myself to put Bobby back in the shed, so I keep him in the house now, sort of like Tom Hanks with his volleyball.

vss #30