snooker

Got a phone call around 10.45, someone excitedly saying 'you know Alan Smyth don't you - you should get up to The Marquis at (etc) and see this!!!'.
Curiosity led me to said pub (I know it--its a lovely spacious Victorian one + has a BRILLIANT jukey - about half a mile from The Orwell).
There were dozens of people crammed round and others beating a path from neighbouring pubs, chattering at their mobiles.
In the middle was a beautiful deep blue snooker table with said man potting the pink --and a red and -oh how very smooth -there goes the black.
The excitement was that he'd been doing pretty much THAT for four hours solid and had beaten all comers in the open tournament they were having.
He shoulda been a pro *sigh*.
It ended up an hour or so later when they announced the game over. He had not been beaten all evening.
I was quite proud of the crabby git.



Mr Smyth
.
Oh yeah, and before he dropped me off home later--in OUR bloody shared car-- has agreed to resume my driving lessons. 'Bout time. It helped a lot that he recently met demonnick666 - who drives lorries! - who added gravitas to my argument that I did NOT wreck the timing chain last time.
As if.