Pool Progress

Before the Germany / Argentina match on Friday night, we managed to get an hour or so on a larger 9 foot table, since there was one free. As to be expected, since Alec is still very much the better player, he beat me 2 games to 1. Although I wasn’t quite as adept on the larger table as he was, I did manage to win the 3rd game with a shot he described as the best he’d ever seen me do and didn’t think he’d ever managed himself:

  • White and black at opposite ends of the table length, with black against the cushion
  • I designate the hole about a foot away from the white as where I’m attempting the pot
  • White travels the entire length of the table, hits black, black travels back the entire length of the table, enters designated hole
  • I win. WOOT!

Pool Pipe Dream

Forget the Argentina vs Mexico match, the match of the weekend was my 3-0 victory aqainst Alec at pool.

I won the first game only by default – he potted the white in the process of potting the black – but the other 2 were won entirely on my own steam, including one which involved potting the black with a nifty ricochet. Not since my China Jump triumph of 2004 have I had such sweet victories at pool because basically, I’ve rarely had any victories. I’ve only had very occasional games here and there with Alec and Jacob, and I always lose.

But on a Friday night about 3 weeks ago I decided, for no reason in particular, that I felt like some pool. Alec then proceeded to wipe the floor with me for the next hour, but instead of accepting this philosophically as usual, this time I vowed something had to change.

The next Saturday, in between World Cup matches, I managed to pwn David before Alec pwned us both.

And this weekend, this glorious weekend, I pwned Alec 3-0.

Things are going rather well. I hope to put in more practice, move onto snooker (which I fully realize will pwn me for ages before I’m even vaguely decent), eventually become a hustler for big bucks, buy myself out of my scholarship bond and start a new life as Johnny Depp’s masseuse.


Pissing The Night Away

I’d been looking forward the whole of last week to my firm’s Pupils Bash on Friday, because lawyers are such great party people!


The real reason was that free flow of drinks at Cocco Latte = FREE FLOW OF HOEGAARDEN ON TAP, YAAAAAAAY! to me. Sadly, upon arriving and bounding merrily to the bar, I was informed that the club’s arrangement with my firm didn’t include Hoegaarden as part of the free flow. Crushed, I therefore drowned my sorrows with 10 assorted shots of tequila and vodka, 2 beers, 1 vodka and lemonade, 1 JD & Coke, and finally a session in the obligatory firm Dentist’s Chair during which tequila was poured down my gullet. By the way, the only other two pupils I saw who weren’t afraid to drink and weren’t embarrassingly drunk by the end of the night were both guys, and all three of us studied in England. Go figure.

By the time Alec joined me at 11.30, many people had left, been brought home, or were stumbling around drunkenly outside, and no one seemed interested in staying to dance. Since I wasn’t in my comfy dancing shoes and was feeling a bit peckish, we left too and went to Newton for a sotong, stingray and Tsingtao supper with Jacob, Ian and Chiho.

A random mention of pool during supper got our hearts set on a pool game at 4 AM, and an Indian stall uncle (or it might have been the bengs at the next table, I forget) said to try Selegie Road, so off we went, to a roadside bar which looked as if it had been expecting 100 rally-car enthusiasts to show up but which was starkly empty. “In the absence of booze, I’ve ordered us 3 cheesecakes,” Jacob said, and they were good. I think we played 3 games, during which Alec beat Jacob, Jacob beat Alec, and I fell asleep halfway during my game so I don’t know who won but I certainly lost.


Clawing back still in progress. This is about Saturday.

I’d originally been pissed off at myself for not snagging us tickets to Maxim Vengerov (kowtow kowtow) performing the Beethoven violin concerto at the Esplanade that night, but in the end when we got asked to three separate parties on the same night, we were glad we weren’t tied down to it. We finally decided we could only make two, and picked the first two we’d been invited to.

* * *

Kelly’s housewarming party came first. We brought a dessert Alec first made for me in London, and which I have subsequently decided is one of my favourite desserts in the world: pears poached in red wine, cinnamon and other stuff, topped with mint-infused mascarpone cheese. Bloody tedious to make, and it looks a bit vile while you’re eating it because the cheese mixes with the wine, but it’s my idea of dessert heaven and I’m not even a dessert person.

I had a great time, but was probably not at my socializing best because I kept getting distracted by the classic music videos among Patrick’s DVD collection. I’m incapable of watching Coldcut’s Timber and making conversation at the same time, unless the conversation is about the utter genius of the video. I probably managed some half-witted remarks during Amon Tobin’s Verbal, but I don’t actually remember what I said or who I was talking to.

I also vaguely remember demanding, in my usual overemphatic tone, that Patrick play the above two videos once I realized he had them. This is of course the best possible way to interact with someone you have only just met. Sigh. I’d like to blame the beer but I don’t think I’d had much at that point.

Anyway, thanks for having us, Kelly and Patrick, and happy housewarming. I eagerly await my next invitation. :)

* * *

Sue’s birthday was at China Jump, which is…really not our kind of place…but it was still nice to see Sue so happy.

Our night there started off badly, but we fortified ourselves with more beer, and danced to Naughty Girl. I also danced to the few aggressive hip-hop tracks they played, until they realized that hardly anyone else wanted to dance to that, and changed back to cheese.

And then we spotted the empty pool table. I’m sure there have been better feelings in my life than making the winning shot in a pool game by perching tipsily in a flimsy tube dress with my left bum cheek on the side of the table and my right arm twisted around my back in order to get a shot at the black, AND THEN POTTING THE FUCKING BLACK THEREBY ROUNDLY KICKING ALEC’S ASS, but this one will do for now.