The silly season is in full swing. Last night, 20 of us went to dinner at The Lanes on Wakefield Street, a bowling alley for grownups. The meal was great. (I can highly recommend the pan-fried chicken breast on a creamy bacon and mushroom risotto.) Unfortunately, there was a muck-up with bookings which meant we wouldn't be able to bowl until at least 10:30 pm, so Plan B saw us all traipse around the corner to a pool hall.
Which brings me to my next point: playing pool. I quite openly admit that I suck at pool. I'm so bad it's embarrassing, not just for me, but also for all those around me, and especially for whichever poor person gets stuck as my partner. So, with that in mind, and hoping to slink off behind a shadowy table and not be noticed, I thought I'd get away with not playing. No such luck. I was paired with the loveliest guy ever, who truly didn't know what he was letting himself in for, yet always made me felt he was laughing with me (and not at me) every time I failed to hit the ball I was aiming for, and truly celebrated any time I hit one of our balls - even if it didn't go far or in the direction it was supposed to. (You must remember that I was playing a certain strategy: hit a ball, any ball, as long as it is ours and not black.) So, when I managed to sink one ... well, there were cheers all round!After that traumatic experience, I needed something to help me recover. Thankfully, we danced the night away to endless cheesy 80s music at the Sports Café . Now there's something I'm good at! :-D
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