A Tennis Story

A Tennis Story

I have been making a study of James Bond, reading the novels and watching the movies. I think I now know the Bond mind: principled, decisive, realistic, ingenious, effective, sometimes violent. I recently faced a Bond challenge over at the tennis courts, involving a shrub. I don’t think SMERSH was behind it, but still—it had to be dealt with. You see, when hitting against the wall the ball would sometimes go into the shrub and linger there so that you had to reach in to retrieve it. The trouble being that the shrub has pointy leaves and spiny stems, which menace the eyes and scratch the hands; more than once blood has been drawn. I mentioned this to the local bigwigs, but nothing was done. The ideal solution would be to remove the shrub, which would not be difficult. Do we have to wait till someone gets poked in the eye? Then I hit on my own solution: I took a pair of garden clippers over there and stealthily cut off the offending leaves, one by one. No longer do you have to reach inside the bush, shielding your eyes and risking the scratches—you just bend down and pick up the ball, no problem. Of course, the high-ups might disapprove, but the job got done. I stuffed the spiky leaves into the trashcan to be taken away in due course; I wonder what the organization will think of it. It will be a mystery to them. 007 has paid a visit (with a license to trim). A wrong has been righted, lives saved. Corners have been cut. Protocol has been set aside. Cue the James Bond theme.