Balls

One of the topics of conversation last night at Charlies was regarding an email I sent yesterday. The general consensus was that I had done a good thing (everyone agreed on that) and that I had balls. This is a rather interesting turn of phrase that I don't particularly understand. Yes, I have balls. I'm not sure how this makes me more courageous. They are distinctly masculine and perhaps that is where the phrase comes from. Why people would choose balls of all things to represent masculinity eludes me. They are possibly the most bizarrely designed and uncomfortable aspect of our anatomy. I doubt they're particularly attractive. And when our balls are threatened by cricket balls, younger siblings or ex-girlfriends, we usually turn into a bunch of quivering pansies. I would have thought an Adams apple would have been more appropriate. There is no corresponding compliment for women, either. If a woman does something particularly worthy of attention we do not tell her that she has breasts, a clitoris or a spare and false rib. If we did I suspect our balls would be in trouble.

Interesting party at Charlies. Claire 'some of my best friends are Christian' was very popular among the more Germanic guests. Tim got trashed in a rather amusing way. Charlie got stuck in the roof. Ben explained the mechanics behind some weird form of Xanadu kung fu. On a trip to BK we nearly got taken out by a bunch of insecure blokes in a suuped up Mazda when they tried to speed around the Cathedral. I swear time slowed down and I saw exactly how the car was going to hit us - and it would have hurt. I didn't see my life flash before my eyes, although I did see the immediate future and was surprisingly coldly accepting of the fact that it would have involved a wheelchair. Will would also have been well and truely screwed. So a big F U to all those little men who are insecure about their little men and try and take it out on those of whom they are jealous.

They don't have balls.