I meet my cousin on the train. We bump into each other about once every six months. We talk a bit about old times.
When we were young we used to go tenpin bowling together. Neither of us goes now. But he tells me the bowling game on the Wii console is pretty much as good as the real thing. You can even make your ball curl by using the right wrist action!
He does have a hobby nowadays, though. He goes clay pigeon shooting. It's great. You can spend a whole day doing it or even just a couple of hours. It's a sport of great skill and it's very social. He's tried shooting real birds but it's not as satisfying as shooting the clay sort.
Yes, I say, there must be more luck involved in shooting birds. It all depends on their flight path.
I am right. He takes my interest as enthusiasm for trying his pastime.
"Do you fancy it, Geoff?"
I can't think of anyone less suited to holding a gun and conversing with a bunch of gun toting guys than me. Except perhaps Prince Edward.
"I don't really have the time," I say.
"What do you do with your spare time then? Everybody's got something."
"I write," I say.
"I'M A WRITER!" I shout to the whole carriage.