I had my second trip to Yarmouth inside a month this weekend to play in another big pool tournament. The place, of course, is officially called Great Yarmouth but I can only assume its prefix was added by a town councilor with a penchant for sarcasm.
On the pool front I lost in the last 32 of a singles event and my team went out in the last 32 of the team event so we didn’t exactly cover ourselves in glory on the table. But off the table it’s always a different matter and we generally have a booze-fuelled riot and this weekend was no exception.
Sadly it was my last match with my team as I’ve knocked this particular event on the head so I can spend more time at home and do some writing.
This was actually quite a tough call as I’ve been with my current side for about six or seven years and we’re all friends. I also captained the team for two years and it’s now in a better position than when I took it over so I leave it heading in the right direction.
Fortunately I’m still playing county pool so I see most off my mates at least once every month anyway. But it’s very much the end of an era for me and when they all go off to play in Yarmouth in October there’ll be a little bit of me wishing I too was staying in a shoddy caravan, drinking over-priced lager, eating low-quality food and winding into all my mates before they have a chance to start winding into me.
Maybe Yarmouth is a little bit great after all…
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