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Whirl pool wedding

April 29, 2011

There was no doubt in my mind, yesterday evening was going to be teetotal and nothing was going to change that. It is not often in my life that I have been more certain or focused on ensuring that nothing could break my iron resolve to avoid all social contact, or at the very least avoid any contact with alcohol. However fate is a strange bed fellow. Sometimes, the best of intentions are undermined by a single persons metaphorical cry for help, thus when I picked up the phone at 8 30 pm last night, I somehow knew who it would be.

Rupert Scott is unexpectedly back amongst us for the saddest of reasons, the death of an associate, and the funeral and attendant issues, and he was clearly in need of some solace, so who am I to impose on him or refuse to adapt my own jealously guarded teetotal regime in the face of human anguish? This will be the basis of my defence when I am subjected to a new cholesterol test shortly, when I am trying once again to reach double figures.

From the above paragraph, you will realise that natural human compassion required me to change my plans immediately and do whatever I could to support a pal at a time of need, and thus once again, despite the best of intentions, I ended up in the Queens Legs playing pool until after midnight.

Modesty forbids me to relate to you who was the most successful player, despite one amongst us owning not only his own full-sized snooker table, but also a pub where he was the pool champion, but the employment of my normal sporting tactics, which of course means the liberal use of gamesmanship, as opposed to sportsmanship which is an entirely different animal, and my tactics managed to achieve the desired effect. There are some similarities with my tennis game, slow it down, keep your opponent waiting with boring deep lobs, or in this case interminable snookers, and then take advantage when their carefully nurtured frustration has built to a crescendo and causes them to crack and do something stupid.

Joining this compassionate crusade was the wingco, with whom I will be playing golf again this morning, before trying to fight the whirlpool of pressure that seems to be exerting massive force to witness some wedding or other on the TV today. I am manfully fighting it, but even amongst grown men there is scarcely another subject of discussion, so my picture today is of the sunset which seems to depict the sun going down on my aspirations to avoid as Peter Lynn puts it “counting each bloody seed pearl on Kate’s dress”.

The sun going down on WANKROYWAG?

I intend fighting until the end. Golf, originally intended to continue throughout the event has been curtailed to just 9 holes, and then staged before the wedding to allow the Hamelin effect to lure otherwise strong men towards their TV screens, luncheon parties have been organised almost everywhere with champagne on tap, but I will have a beer at the golf course, then lunch with the wingco at the Auberge St Donat (even he, the strongest willed of men, is going to “just have a look” between golf and lunch), so I shall be in a void for an hour or so, unable to venture home otherwise I know I will be trapped.

That nice lady decorator will arrive home on Saturday, when, weather permitting, I shall be donning the cricket trousers and weaving the old leg spin magic and caressing the ball to all parts of the ground. That at least is what I have dreamed and I shall do my best to make it come to pass. Any suggestion that I am going to play as there may be a large seam of untapped customers for Currencies Direct is as obscene as it is true. Missionary work of this nature takes on many different guises.

Chris France

One Comment leave one →
  1. Pinman permalink
    April 29, 2011 1:02 pm

    At Fitlane in Sophia there were three large screens this morning. One with the dreaded veddin, one with snooker and one with a Lady Ga-Ga explicit video.

    I admit to watching Lady Ga-Ga………..and I don’t mean Camilla………..

    Like

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