Driving Me Bonkers

Motoring through suburban Surrey a few days ago there was a resounding crash as something solid bounced off the roof of the car. “Quickly” I said to the wifely passenger, “have a look at the map. Is there a golf course around here? I’m sure that was a golf ball. Maybe we can sue?”

In the event a later inspection of the car revealed no visible damage and I let the matter pass. But yesterday the same thing happened again – twice. In the morning as I was driving to work my attention to Desert Island Discs on Radio 4 (Quentin Blake and, yes, I was running late) was interrupted by a similar, explosive “Bang” on the roof of the car. Later in the day, on the way back home, “Thud” again. To my surprise there were no golfers around on either of these occasions, and, again no visible damage.

The explanation is, of course that it is autumn and conkers are coming off the trees like large hailstones. As I take my morning stroll to collect the newspaper I trip and slide on the things. The wife, for reasons unknown, is collecting them in a bowl in the kitchen. Maybe Pheasant Braised in Conkers is a projected supper dish, or she is going to souse them to make Conker Gin?”

On the subject of conkers Breakfast TV yesterday also featured England’s rather eccentric and ancient conker-fighting champion. The secret of a championship-winning conker, he said, is to ensure that your conker has “passed whole through a pig”.