Snooker Loopy!

Went to have a knockabout with a chum from work at a pool club in town because I’ve recently joined a pool team out of a club called JFK’s in Peckham. So I’m quite keen to get some practice in and pot a few balls.

My first trip to JFK’s saw me get off the train and walk out of the station to be confronted by an ageing rasta who made the following offer:

‘You want some weed, man?’
‘No thank-you.’
‘You don’t want any weed, man?’ he asked looking perplexed.
‘No. I don’t smoke.’
‘So you don’t want any weed at all, man?’
‘No thank-you.’

He shook his head and walked away, tutting, as though I was the one who was odd for not accepting a kind offer to buy drugs from a total stranger at 6pm in the evening in broad daylight on a main high street.

This, however, was nothing compared to my trip with my work chum.

On entering our local club in town we learnt my membership had expired so I had to renew this. Sadly the lovely German chap Herman who runs the place was using a quiet afternoon to train a new member of staff called Myers. And he was useless.

My friend and I grabbed a table and started playing only to have our game interrupted by snatches of shouted conversation from the bar.

‘I am ordering a pint of Coke so press Coke and Pint on the till.’
‘OK…’ Press, press, till roll rotating.
‘So how much is that?
Pause.
‘£1.40?’
‘No.’
‘£1.50?’
‘No. How much does the till say?’
‘£2.00?’
‘So how much is a pint of Coke?’
‘£1.40?”
‘No!’

This went on for an hour and it just got worse for poor old Myers, especially when Herman tried to explain the workings of the bandits and the poker machines.

I fear for the place as me and my Other Woman have spent many pleasurable evenings in there after hapkido.

Sadly it may be bankrupt by the time I return from holiday…