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SHIN KICKING
EXCERPT FROM TRUE BRITS ©JR DAESCHNER

For the sake of authenticity, I've mustered up the stupidity to compete in shin kicking.

Last year, I'd chickened out after concluding that my flimsy rubber-soled shoes were no match for the champion's heavy work boots. This time, I've come with my own shin kicking footwear (unfortunately, without steel tips).

Trudging up to the games that evening, through the green fields speckled with sheep, towards the sun setting on the hilltop, I brace myself mentally.
I've come up with what seems like a sure-fire strategy: I'll go on the offensive with my strongest leg, kicking and sweeping with the right, so that I can defend my left shin and throw my opponent.
As I pause to catch my breath halfway up the hill-surely I'm not that out of shape!- Campden glows honey-coloured below.
My secret hope is that I'll get thrown, and thrown quickly; my main concern-aside from making a fool of myself-is that I might win.

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