My wife has just this minute thrown to me my newly washed face towel; it involved projecting it twelve feet up the stairs at quite a pace yet I caught it right handed, despite being essentially left handed. How about that? She is forever throwing things at me but let's move on.
Back in 1959, during a game of rounders on a day full of sunshine, I ran down the hilly bank at Ushaw Moor school [with Mr Foster's woodwork room away in the far right corner] and then dashed ten yards before finally diving to take a catch. It was a brilliant catch - one of my best - but to this day I am not sure that catching that ball was the point of the game.
WB
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