On the pool

So, last Friday. Was supposed to be in work, working away (as one might be expected to do in work - go figure). However, I'd been informed earlier on in the week that there was a pool tournament for HMRC employees, and that special leave was available for it.

Special leave, for the uninitiated, is basically a paid day off that doesn't count towards your quota of annual leave. It's often granted in cases where there's been a bereavement, or a seriously ill family member. Or in this case, to play pool and get drunk.

Anyway, whole bunch of us saw the times, realised it was a paid day off, and promptly applied. I got approved (as did half the floor for that day) although a few folk did get knocked back because they weren't quick enough.

Thus it came to pass that last Friday consisted of me walking into work, saying hi, and vanishing again. My last day on the team, little more than a fleeting appearance. Oh well.

Got to the pool hall in Battlefield at about half 11 for a 12 noon start, so had a cheeky wee pint, and immediately wished I hadn't. Not because of the potential to be smashed before I'd even played a game, but because the lines clearly hadn't been cleaned. Urgh.

Tournament started just after 12, and there was a preliminary round to be had to narrow the field down to 64 for the first round. I was straight into the first round through that ancient mechanism that we call 'the luck of the draw'. So I waited. And waited. And waited. Finally got called onto the table (there were 8, but progress was still hellishly slow) at about 3pm.

By 3.15pm, my progress in the tournament was over. Lost by two frames to one, having won the first by virtue of a reverse granny (my opponent potted from the break, sunk another couple of balls, and then fucked up and potted the black too early). So I was one frame up without having so much as hit a ball. The other two frames were pretty comfortable defeats for me, although a minor rules disagreement was chalked off as ignorance, when I suspect the real answer was "Two shots carry? Like fuck they do. Cheating cunt"

My sporting escapades once again cruelly halted before their peak, I returned to the bar, and started on the Guinness. Beat one of the other guys 5-0 on the American pool tables in an hour, and got progressively more drunk. Time is a bit hazy as to when I left, but I think it was about 6pm. Already a touch melted, I headed into town, went to Rufus', drank more, and almost got knocked back from the Classic Grand.

Only lasted an hour or so in there before I realised myself that I was way too drunk, and got the bus home. Was in bed by 2am, but still felt like death for pretty much all of Saturday. But that would be to forget the key element, which is that I got paid to take the day off work and play pool.