Westbridge Snooker Club 1

Uncle Robert stood in blocks of colour with his cue. Duane moved as if a divine entity. His voice would trail behind him as each footstep sponged on the grey ribbed carpeted floor. Tomo to the left of us.

We overheard grunts from the other table. Two retired factory workers playing. Words about where the balls were positioned and specialist terms like 'side', 'cush', and 'plant'.

The appearance of the snooker-hall - each table attractively lit framing the pastures of play apart from the shadowy gullets cut between the mahogany- elephant-legged tables -was as if a banquet free of anything edible. A sway in consciousness would have you believe the spheres were fruits and this game the two-legged bodies were interacting with was about placing the correct fruits in the correct holes for money.

Rob piped up "na it's not bolser wood you're playing with, don't be a tart". Dogs barking outside could be heard through the fire doors. The clacking of red balls against ivory white, blue on pink and the falling of all different colours all at once from off the felt turf surface into pockets lined with fish nets.

"it was a nice gesturebut what a cunt" 

Peeling back into the hall through the swingingdoors of the variety used in hospital wards. Duane laughed too saucy for the factoryworkers to the right,brokeand twitched at the corner of the mouth as he watched the white ball travelback intothe D. 

The ruffling of suds-stinkingdenim -the soap used to remove grease that got on to just about everything Robert tookinto the car -followed him. His hair was thinning on top and he held a can of Skol beer. It mixed with thesuds. Lighting up cigarette after cigarette the towers of smoke broke under thelighting hovering aboce the table, ghosts making their way down through the CEILING PANELS. Aston Villa wereon.

I noticed dad was nowstuggling to keep up the pace moving around the table. 

The hall emptied.

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