3am! Who calls people at that time of the night? The other night I was lying there on my inflatable mattress dreaming peacefully of Rovers winning the league when a devilishly loud screaming woke me up. After I realised it was the phone, I gave up and let it ring out. I was just dozing off when it rang again, so I got up and answered it. It was a middle aged Scottish woman, who sounded perfectly sober and awake. This was the conversation:
me: What? Hello?
her: Hi Wendy!
me: What?
her: Wendy!
me: It's three o'clock in the f*cking morning!
her: Sorry?
me: This isn't Wendy!!
her: It isn't? Oh. Sorry.
She put the phone down, and I went back to bed. On the way to work I started wondering who Wendy might be, and why she would be called at 3am by another woman. How strange some people are. And how annoying.
Last night saw the epic battle for the Duncan Goodhew Trophy* - our annual pool tournament that takes place every three months at Marco's on Grove Street. Having been away overseas, I was of course making my long-awaited debut in the competition, and immediately installed myself as an outside-bet dark-horse to take the title. Sadly, I am bloody-awful at pool, and despite a thrilling opening win I preceded to lose every other game and finish second last. Thankfully the person I beat was just as dreadful as me, or I would have been rock bottom. I won't name and shame him on here - let's just say it was Grant Anthony. I always have high hopes in these kind of things - but once the beer hits my system I'm good for another...oh 30 seconds or so, and then I might as well be knocking tomatoes around with a stick of celery. I did manage some spectacular flukes though, and also didn't fire any balls off the table and have to meekly go and ask for them back. But I was pretty rubbish - the trophy was destined never to be mine. I have excuses though - all the beer I drank, the dodgy burger I ate (must have been, as this morning I had a pounding headache), and the midweek 3am phone call which put me off my game. Hey - maybe it wasn't a wrong number! It's a conspiracy!
*Because he was 'good in a pool'
