I came in last last night.
A loser, comprehensively vanquished, whitewashed, beaten, massacred.
In a phrase, I was thrashed.
Not just pipped at the post
Not just a photo-finish
Not nudged out by a nose.
I wasn’t even placed.
Everyone was better than me in the speech contest.
That’s the end of my effort to become World Champion (for another year).
Was I that bad? Yes.
Was the speech a nightmare? No.
The speech was fine.
A woman
came up to me with tears in her eyes.
“Thank you for your wonderful speech. I was so moved by it. Like you said, all I’ve wanted all my life is to be listened to, to be heard. You put your finger on what matters most to me. Thank you ever so much. It was great.”
The speech was well worth delivering.
It meant a lot to at least two of us.
The speech was magnificent, despite my delivery – not because of how I delivered it.
The judges
found my speaking style poorer than every one of the other contestants.
They punctured my self-esteem.
My hubris.
Don’t you love it
when judges do that for you?
How considerate.
How thoughtful.
How generous.
What a gift.
I owe a debt of gratitude, don’t I?
From Bath to Cork with baby Grace 