Just a few days ago I was bemoaning the fact that my extremely handsome young son George, wasn't interested in going to the snooker club with me anymore. So it came as a bit of a surprise when he suddenly announced a desire to accompany me to that very place.
Oh let joy be unconfined! George's simple request made my heart leap and soar with happiness. How I would delight in beating him on the green baize once again. When I say beating him, I don't mean that I actually hold him down physically and beat him with a stick or a paddle. I would never do that. Not even when, during one of our friendly wrestling bouts, he chances his luck, and has that look. The look that tells me he thinks he can take on his old Dad and win. He is taller and probably stronger than me now, but no son. Not just yet.
Driving to the snooker club we are delayed behind a woman cyclist. Not normally a subject worth commenting on. However I could not fail to notice, even with my failing eyesight, that she was wearing, what I think are called leggings, but look like tights. Those stretchy things, which look very nice on the slimmer feminine figure, but which take on a somewhat less pleasing aspect when worn by women of a more, shall I say, Rubenesque form.
Let me hasten to add at this point, that I am very fond of the amply proportioned woman. I enjoy a cuddle as much as the next man. But I do feel that the larger lady wearing stretchy green tights, should perhaps not be wobbling along a busy road on a bicycle. Especially when those tights are stretched to their maximum loading capacity and have, in the process become see through. Thereby revealing her underwear. It must be thoroughly uncomfortable wearing a thong when cycling. A white thong, with a label on it, stating that it was bought in a well known department store.
Now the reason I am relating this incident is of course purely in the interest of road safety. A lesser man than I could very easily be distracted enough by a sight like this, to cause a road traffic accident. Not me though! Although I was stuck behind this lady for some time, I am proud to say that I managed to avert my eyes quite a lot. But not before being reminded of an oil painting by Turner. I can't recall the paintings title at the moment, but it is the one which depicts a pale moon rising from a turbulent green sea!
When George and I arrive at the snooker hall, he reminds me that it is time to pay our annual membership dues. A fact which makes me a wee bit suspicious of my dear boys motive in inviting me to play. But no, he is not a devious young man. Not at all. I pay up happily. Pleased to be in his company once more. We play two games. Of course I let him win the first game, and only narrowly let him win the second. After all I don't want to knock his confidence.
Suddenly four of George's friends arrive. Unfortunately they don't have enough money to pay for a table but they wouldn't mind a game or two.
I leave my son happily playing snooker with his pals, and drive home alone. Wondering how an inexpensive outing with him has left me without enough cash in my pocket for fish and chips. Wondering also why his friends turned up if they had no money.
It was a lovely couple of hours though. Well worth it. Emotionally I mean, not financially.