Notes from underground

يارب يسوع المسيح ابن اللّه الحيّ إرحمني أنا الخاطئ

Golf tour, or tournament?

Going home from church on Sunday in Mamelodi we turned into this road and saw that there was a Golf convention, or could one say a Golf tournament.

I’m reminded of Louis Macneice’s poem Sunday Morning

Down the road someone is practising scales,
The notes like little fishes vanish with a wink of tails,
Man’s heart expands to tinker with his car
For this is Sunday morning, Fate’s great bazaar;
Regard these means as ends, concentrate on this Now,

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