…the white ball left a 5cm gash on his scone despite a floppy white hat absorbing some of the impact.

I suppose anybody who keeps a diary and subsequently goes over it for publication has a tremendous temptation to second-guess and make himself look like an oracle.

A great sea lifted us high and, crashing down with a deafening roar, carried us swiftly along on light foam as soft as eiderdown.

But now, although pride was not a completely empty emotion for me, there was hardly the flood of self-esteem I once would have felt . . . for I had grown, or at least I had learned; I had caught sad glimpses of the ungloriful truth.