The Secret Life of Tennis Balls
Ruminating over endless squabbles on social media is making me jittery. Because news stories nowadays mean different things to different people; entrenched viewpoints and shouty disagreements muddy every conversation, and there’s rarely a calm consensus on what is actually true. So I stop reading, put my phone down and go outside. Half a dozen tatty chewed-up tennis balls lie on the wet winter grass littered with twigs blown down by the wind. My silly soft dog Austin walks over to…