Alley Cat

I am wondering whether Malcolm Gladwell is right in Outliers, and that if I spend 10,000 hours bowling, I might become a genius at it. last night, as I tossed the ball haphazardly down the lane in the All Star Bowling Lanes on Brick Lane (too many lanes in this sentence, surely) I certainly felt 10,000 hours away from being any good. Still, aside from the fact that a casual observer might have thought I had misunderstood the point of the game, I did actually have fun in the 1950s-style swanky alley, drinking red wine and generally pretending I wasn’t wearing horrid bowling shoes. It’s very cool in there, with girls in natty 50s garb, neon lit lettering, leather booths and shiny, high gloss retro kitsch decor. you sort of feel like you should burst into a number from Grease. I like all this overhauling of hitherto-languishing-in-the-shadows-of-utter-sadness pursuits – Roller Disco, Karaoke, Ice Skating et al. works for me at any rate.