Red Ball, Pink Ball

Perhaps it's global warming and the rising water levels but the market theatre is becoming home to an endangered and fast disappearing species of marsh audience. At least to judge from the few brave web-footed souls who waded to the heart of the swamp to attend Friday evening's CADS Christmas party.

My contribution to thee proceedings involved stumbling through AA Milne's poem about King John's Christmas, which is all about...er...King John and his wish for a big red india rubber ball. It contains the couplet '...when by the window, big and red, there whistled by the royal head and bounced and fell upon the bed, an india rubber ball.'

Well, I was walking yesterday, head down against the gale that was sweeping up Broadway, when bouncing towards me (and almost whistling past) came.....a red ball. 'Apt,' I thought, if a day too late. Anyway I couldn't resist picking it up while looking around for the likely lass or lad to whom it might have belonged, for I discounted the possibility that it might have been lost by a passing Royal. It was not made of india rubber, but of a light plastic, though there is not a lot of difference in the look of the thing in the gathering dusk of a winter afternoon.

As no wailing child hove into view and as I felt a bit silly dropping the ball back on the pavement (I could have got myself arrested for littering) I placed it in my right pocket and continued on my way. Imagine my surprise then when in the middle of Love Lane I should find a pink ball lying at my feet. Had someone been playing snooker in the Heavens? Was there now a whole frame of balls dotted around the Cowbridge streets? I picked up the orphan ball and put it in my left pocket.

I didn't find anymore but if any of you have any information or claim ownership, do please say.