AS MY friends will readily attest, I make a hash of everything.
I'm handless, gormless, clueless. There's a habitual mismatch between hand, eye and brain.
Take an example. There are five of us in a restaurant. The waitress brings a basket of breid and a dish of butter. Everybody wires in. Everybody manages to spread the butter smoothly on their breid. Except me.
Please enable cookies in your browser to display the rest of this article.