On Cue...

As a long-time pool and snooker player I have always had a bit of an interest in old snooker cues and the various Riley tombstone cues, so named because the Riley badges on the butts are shaped like a tombstone, are something I've always thought were quite beautiful.

And now I am the proud owner of my first antique Riley cue. The downside of this, however, is I've now decided I want to own one of each of the Riley tombstone cues, of which there are five or six different ones so I now have a new collecting mania.

Sadly the Missus has decreed we need the bathroom doing so I have to find money for this just as I'm finding a new hobby that may require additional funds too.

So antique snooker cues or new bathroom? It's a tough call. Fortunately there is always the excellent website www.thecuecollector.com where I can window-shop if all else fails...

Potty Mouth...

We are eating dinner and the Boy is discussing the film Taken and saying it has had awful reviews so I try to defend its lead actor.
'That's a shame as I quite like Liam Neeson. He was great in The Big Man and Schindler's List'
'I've never seen The Big Man but I'm probably going to watch Schindler's List tonight...' says the Boy.
'Have you never seen it?'
'No.'
'I thought you'd have seen it...'
'Why?'
'Well it's quite an important movie. Spielberg gets serious sort of thing...'
'Well I'm watching it tonight.'

I smirk and remember a gag.
'A friend of mine told me to watch Schindler's List many years ago but he warned me that I'd need a box of tissues. So I bought some tissues but there was nothing to have a...'

The Missus intervenes.
'For God's sake! Do not crack jokes about wanking to Schinder's List at the dinner table.'

I get the sort of look she reserves for spare room offences. So I hold my tongue and comfort myself with the thought that in an alternative reality my wife is Jane Austen and I have gained immortality as one of her books ends with the line...

'Because, dear reader, I married the cloth-headed, potty-mouthed fucking idiot...'

Progress...

A friend of mine works at Asda Magazine and I was asking her if she recalls the advert where shoppers walked around the store and, after paying for their groceries, slapped the pocket on their backsides to show that it had more change in it after shopping there rather than shopping at any other rival store.

I think it was voiced by Molly Sugden and I pointed out that such an act may now seem old hat and vaguely sexist but it was in the 1970s when slapping a young woman's arse was deemed a reasonable thing to show on TV.

These days, of course, such actions are frowned upon and the advent of feminism has put something of a halt to this sort of behaviour. Especially if men are also involved. And especially if the arse-slapping is not requested or sought.

In fact these days it's called 'sexual harassment'. And they call it progress, eh?

Gone To Pot...

Last week saw the presentation night for the singles pool league I've been playing in for the past year and a half. It's a pretty decent standard and competing in it has no doubt helped my form return somewhat, so much so that in the last season I finished second in the top division and above at least two players who are better than me.

But it was also a bit of a sad moment as I'm taking a break from playing pool again to focus on my hapkido studies as my next grading is for my black stripe and the one after that will be for my black belt.

So I have to get focused for at least the next three months – then maybe much longer...

Consequently I've been slowly getting back into fighting shape and I'll be taking some lessons about how I got back into half-decent form at pool into my hapkido studies after feeling like I've been treading water in class for the past year.

For a start at pool I got back on the practice table and started putting the hours in and, even though the bike's been getting some road miles on it and I'm getting personal tuition at boxing, I need to put the hours back in at hapkido.

But I think most importantly I have to remember why I wanted to play pool at a decent level again and that was quite simply because I enjoyed it. And when I played well it made the hours of knocking balls around a table on my own all worth it.

Sadly I haven't really enjoyed hapkido training too much recently but that's probably because I haven't been fully focused on it. But like playing pool at a decent level again I guess it's just gonna need time until the work bears fruit and it all starts to click again.

And if it doesn't I can always pick up my cue again, eh?

Just Kidding...

EastEnders currently has a storyline with a new character called Tony. He's a paedophile who's been grooming his girlfriend Bianca's stepdaughter Whitney and it all looks set to be very grim viewing indeed...

The head honcho of all things Walford, EastEnders Executive Producer Diederick Santer, has just been on Radio 5 defending the storyline and saying how he believes it's a positive thing that this plotline may provide a forum for real cases of paedophilia to be discussed and information about grooming to be more widely disseminated. He also ended his interview on the note that if one paedophile is arrested because of this story then the plotline will be doing its job.

What a pompous prick. His job is to produce a half-decent soap opera and not provide help to the police force, because the last time I checked they were responsible for arresting wrongdoers and not some tit from TV. The last time some well-meaning dumbell unleashed this particular debate, halfwit News Of The World readers ended up attacking the premises of paediatricians.

Regardless of Santer's pontificating about good drama being rooted in real issues and his so-called good intentions, this storyline is clearly about grabbing headlines and making the producer's name as a 'controversial-which-means-good' TV man rather than a producer of quality drama.

Frankly it's a ridiculous storyline. And Lucy's much better looking than Whitney...

Pussy News...

The new cat has now been living at From Beer To Paternity Towers for almost two weeks and the Missus and the Boy are totally enamoured with her.

She's been christened Willow (our other cat is called Buffy) and she's into everything and clambers over anyone who happens to sit down in the front room where she is currently housed.

Willow also has a good line in playing bite the finger, foot, hand, leg or any other appendage that happens to be available. Biting and scratching a person's ears also seems to be her other favourite game. While sitting on their head.

Because she clings onto people and their clothing – and because she is a kitten who has yet to work out how to retract her claws – the Missus, the Boy and myself are currently covered in scratches.

But it was only when I was at the gym getting dry in the changing rooms after hapkido last week that I realised the full extent of this as my back, neck and arms are scratched to buggery.

So I look like I'm either having lots of aggressive sex or have started self-harming. Or I have a mental new kitten. Draw your own conclusions...

Betrayal...

Me, the Missus and the Boy are heading out for curry and the Missus is telling the Boy that she'd been invited to a press show for a new Nintendo game entitled Lego Batman, which is something to do with the new film Dark Knight film.

And the Boy is aghast that she's turned it down as in his eyes she missed out on getting some free stuff, such as a copy of the game which would have obviously gone to him.
'I can't believe you turned it down. Can't you contact him and tell him you'll go? Or better still contact him and tell him I'll go?'
'Sadly the invitation was only for me...'

I now get interested.
'What do mean you it was just you?'
'How do you mean?'
'Well wasn't anyone else invited?'
'No. It wasn't for anyone else. It was just me...'
'Was it in a discreet hotel room somewhere by any chance?'
'Don't be ridiculous.'
'I suppose he's quite a hunk is Mr Lego Batman fella, is he?'
'He is quite attractive, actually...'

It as this point the Boy again intervenes.
'Well you should go see him and get me some free stuff then...'
'So you think your mum should commit adultery to get you a free game?'
The Boy doesn't even pause.
'Yeah. Obviously...'

Happy Birthday...

It's birthday time for the Missus again and, in a bid to win the husband of the year award for 2008, I have pulled out all the stops.

Tickets to Sadlers Wells, 3000-year-old Egyptian jewellery, a subscription to Vanity Fair, the list goes on...

I thought these presents would go down a storm but the Missus had other ideas, especially as our house now has a new kitten.
'My best birthday present was our new kitten...' she opined in a careless moment.

I used to think the kitten was adorable but I'm starting to hate it now. This means war...

The Pyjama Game...

I read a fantastic book called The Pyjama Game: A Journey into Judo while I was on holiday.

It's written by a journalist called Mark Law and it traces his gradual interest and subsequent immersion the world of judo as a practitioner as well as tracing the history of the martial art in its political, sporting and social context.

It's a fantastically well-researched book and a thoroughly entertaining read. It essentially does for judo what Angry White Pyjamas by Robert Twigger did for aikido and is every bit as good.

Well worth a look whether you're a martial artist or not.

Back Home...

Me and the Missus arrive back from our holidays. We left the Boy at home as he decided he didn't want to travel abroad with the olds any more.

So we arrive home eager to chat to him about whether he had a good time and whether everything was OK. The Missus was worried throughout the trip as it was the first time we've left him for any length of time.

'So how was it?' she inquires.
'Great. Had my friends round, played poker, drank beer, watched films, chilled out... When you going again?'

It's official. We are redundant as parents...

Holiday Romance...

The holiday apartments we’re staying at are jolly nice and we’ve already made friends with some of our fellow holiday-makers. Two of our chums are a pair of sisters who have pretty much travelled everywhere in the world and we've also palled up with a very nice family from Portsmouth and their kids.

Everyone is very polite and very civilised and most of the people we’ve met seem to have been coming here for years. But there are two new arrivals, a pair of women who have piqued the Missus’ interest.

They’re both fiftysomething and are holidaying together. I think they’re either lovers or old friends but the villa complex owner has christened them the 'nice ladies’ and this seems quite fitting, although one of the 'nice ladies' has a face like a slapped arse and both steadfastly refuse to have anything to do with anybody else in any way, shape or form.

They are very much the sort of 'ladies who lunch' but the Missus has decided they’re lovers and has rechristened them ‘ladies who munch’. This is the sort of gag I would usually crack. I must be rubbing off on her…

PS. One of the 'ladies who munch' has come down with a stomach bug that's been doing the rounds. The Missus reported the news to me and I suggested it must have been something she ate. We smirked like children.