mostly david ephgrave

This afternoon, in a continuation of our newfound love unwittingly stumbled across while on holiday, I took my wife to a local pool hall for a game or two of…well…pool. It took a while to relax in what for me was an unnatural environment (which implies my wife hangs around pool halls all the time). The place was designed to a sportsman’s motif, or so it seemed in my over-active little head. The Ireland Vs. Argentina Rugby World Cup game blared from flat-screen TVs surrounding me at every angle, while football kit-wearing men bought drinks. The bar staff looked like they’d been petrol-pumped full of testosterone (and that was just the women). I was worried everyone knew about my P.E.-shirking past; if Messrs Tomley, Rycroft and Smith walked in, I would have done something smelly in my jeans. (They were my games teachers, by the way, and not solicitors.) In reality, the atmosphere was nothing like the mental image I painted; as is often the c...