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Author Topic: Vagueness and the Aftermath - A sporadic diary  (Read 3586933 times)
RED-DOG
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« Reply #27165 on: October 13, 2015, 01:05:04 AM »

Right. The rest of the snooker story. No waffle, just the facts.

We were alone on the bench. I was scared, Tracy was on the verge of tears. At that moment, the time that my dad had paid for must have expired because the light over our table went out, plunging us into darkness.

Tracy started to wail. It was quite a soft, low note at first but it quickly got louder and higher until there seemed to be only two possible outcomes, people's eardrums would burst, or he would go beyond the range of human hearing. Apparently though, there was a third option. The light came back on and the man who sits behind the tiny hole in the wall came out of his little room to investigate.

He arrived at our bench to find that Tracy had stopped howling and was now syking instead. (I don't know if syking is actually a word, but in my family we use it to describe that hiccuppy sound people make when they're trying to stop crying).

He fussed around Tracy, smoothing his hair, wiping his nose, and straightening his duffel coat. As he worked he spoke in a soft, lilting voice. (I can't write in a Welsh accent so you'll have to imagine it).

"Now then boyo, whateveris a matar with ew? Don't worry look ew, ewer da will be back in a li tal while, why don't ew come by yere and we can have a game of snooker?"

He pronounced it "snucker" and, years later, when Terry Griffiths came on the scene and said it I was instantly reminded of him.

He coaxed Tracy from the bench and over to the table, then he selected a short cue from a rack on the wall and began to teach him how to chalk it and hit a ball with it. After a little while he started putting reds and colours over the pockets for Tracy to knock in.

Back then I was something of a dim, distracted sort of child. "Always got your head in the clouds" my dad used to say, and it was true, I was a real daydreamer, but when something piqued my interest, I could be ultra observant, and afterwards I could recall everything, right down to the last detail. I'm pretty much the same today. I don't write about poker much because as soon and the hand is dead I've forgotten what the cards were, but if I see a good quote or read some nice prose, I can recite it verbatim years later.

My interest was piqued now.

I watched the man from the little room carefully as he went about the job of entertaining my brother. He was an old man, definitely over 60, perhaps even 70. Small and slight with thinning grey hair and pale, waxy skin. His nose was kind of flat and stubby and his eyebrows didn't match. One was short and lumpy, the other was longer but riven by a broad scar. In contrast to the man's hair his eyebrows were still dark and full. Perched as they were at different hights on a deeply furrowed forehead, they looked for all the world like crows in a tree, flitting from branch to branch.

He was dressed in a faded white shirt which was partially covered by a rust colored cardigan. His brown trousers had shiny patches on the backside and knees, and, as is common with small men, the excess material in the legs had folded itself into short corrugated piles where they met his shoes.

He was coaching Tracy but I took everything in. He played an occasional shot himself and I saw how he stood back from the cue ball before stepping in and dropping into his stance. I saw how he gripped the cloth with his fingers and how he cocked his thumb to form a bridge. I saw how he addressed the ball and how he delivered the cue. When he played a shot, the only thing that moved were his eyes and his right arm below the elbow.

"Gently now," he was saying to Tracy, who by now was enjoying himself thoroughly and getting a bit excited, "this game isn't about who is the fastest or the strongest, it's about who can control themselves the best".

As he said this, he looked around at me and winked. It was as if he could read my mind. I was never the fastest or the strongest, but I was always good at things that required calmness and self control. The thing was, until that moment, it had never occurred to me that calmness and self control could make me competitive at something.

I felt strange. I had that heady, irrationally happy feeling that you get when you first fall in love.

As yet I had never struck a ball or even held a cue, but I had fallen in love with snooker.

"Would ew like to have a bitofa try?" he asked, beckoning me forward and passing me the cue. It felt warm and smooth in my hands as I chalked the tip the way I had seen him do.

He set up a simple shot and spent some time helping me get into the correct position. "Now keep ewer head still and hit it gently" he said, and I did.

I felt the solid clonk as the tip of the cue connected with the white, and I heard the clack as the white made contact with the red, then I saw the red roll a few inches before dropping in to the pocket.

That was the first time I had ever hit a snooker ball and, as things turned out, it would be the last for quite a while because at that moment  someone opened the front door by kicking it so hard that it almost flew off its hinges.


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« Reply #27166 on: October 13, 2015, 01:06:30 AM »

Bugger!

Foiled by waffle again.
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« Reply #27167 on: October 13, 2015, 01:22:55 AM »

  thumbs up
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« Reply #27168 on: October 13, 2015, 10:05:10 AM »

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« Reply #27169 on: October 13, 2015, 10:21:01 AM »



Permission granted to continue waffling.
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« Reply #27170 on: October 13, 2015, 10:23:04 AM »

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« Reply #27171 on: October 13, 2015, 10:26:43 AM »

The Terry Griffiths of anecdotes.
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« Reply #27172 on: October 13, 2015, 10:49:55 AM »

Thanks for the feedback peeps, and thanks for your patience.

If I could just get the narrative flowing properly I could polish stories like this off in a couple of quick paragraphs, but as soon as I start writing, all my good intentions fly out of the window.

I think I need to start using the same method that I use for suitcase packing. Lay out all the things I think I need, and then throw half of it away and go with what's left.
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« Reply #27173 on: October 13, 2015, 10:56:07 AM »

It's a stunningly beautiful autumn day here, so I will be mostly testing my tent.

I want to practice putting it up while it's dry and warn so that it will be easier when I have to do it in the cold and wet.

I was toying with the idea of sleeping in it tonight, I've got a new three quarter length sleeping mat that I want to try out, but I've got a bit of a chest, a sore throat and a couple of mouth ulcers. In fact, truth to tell I'm very very not very well.

What do y'all think? Will I be OK or am I liable to get newmoanee?
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« Reply #27174 on: October 13, 2015, 01:01:53 PM »

If you were a few years younger i'd say you should be fine Tom, but your not young so my answer is no, you need a proper bed.
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« Reply #27175 on: October 13, 2015, 01:13:23 PM »

If you were a few years younger i'd say you should be fine Tom, but your not young so my answer is no, you need a proper bed.

Smiley
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« Reply #27176 on: October 13, 2015, 01:57:38 PM »

Putting my tent up in good weather.

Timing myself but not rushing.



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12 minutes is far too slow but I'm sure I can get it down to about half of that with practice.
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« Reply #27177 on: October 13, 2015, 01:59:01 PM »

My self inflating mat, self inflating.


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« Reply #27178 on: October 13, 2015, 02:02:36 PM »

From inside the tent with mat and sleeping bag in situ.

I'm using Geo's bivvy bag trapped under the mat with my coat in the bottom as a headboard/pillow.


BTW- Poppy is such a photo bomber.



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« Reply #27179 on: October 13, 2015, 02:07:09 PM »

If you were a few years younger i'd say you should be fine Tom, but your not young so my answer is no, you need a proper bed.

I suppose that would be true if I were just an ordinary man Maureen.
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