G beat me at pinball this morning. I could give excuses like he uses a good paddle and I use a house paddle or that I'm sick as a dog and regurgitating a lung right now or that my drug addled senses couldn't focus on the ball or even that he has gained enough skill to actually beat me at ping pong. But those would all just be excuses.

The real culprit is my Great Uncle. He's dead so it's not much use for me to bitch at him. You see, he and my Great Aunt lived in Hawaii and they sent me some crystals and volcanic rock when I was a little kid. This was bad. It angered the gods and cursed me, much like that episode of The Brady Bunch with the Angry Tiki God.

I didn't understand about the curse until I was a teenager and by then it was too late. I didn't have those rocks any more so I couldn't return them to Pele's bosom to break the curse. That's Pele the Hawaiian volcano goddess, not the aged soccer player.

That's right, y'all - I am doomed for all eternity to suffer the curse of the Maori. I can normally keep it at bay with constant ritual sacrifice but every now and then it will creep through into my life.

On the plus side I always know exactly why things go wrong when they do. Like this morning's ping-pong game or last week when I ran over that kid.

Damned Maori.