Lot of taking care of
It was the grandfather of all rugby tackles. I was running like hell, the ball tucked firmly under my arm – I glanced over my shoulder, to see a pursuer dangerously close, and then it happened. It was like the business about an irresistible f***e meeting an immovable object, except that it was more like one irresistible f***e meeting another. He appeared from nowhere, head down, arms widespread, and we must have collided at a combined speed of about forty miles an hour. He bounced me into the...