Posted by: okathleen | May 1, 2009

Snooker loopy

What is it about men wielding sticks stroking balls across soft green felt? If there’s not something very Freudian in that then Fanny’s my Aunt. I’m watching snooker because it is just so mind numb numb dull dull. And that’s what I need, my mind needs to go numb.

I’ve given birth to my dissertation. It was a prolonged labour, and quite gory in the end, it weighed in slightly above average, and was quite nicely wrapped in swaddling binding. 

It was either hand it in or burn it. 

So I handed it in, and simultaneously a huge boulder that had been sitting on my head dissolved into fairy dust.

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Responses

  1. Huge congratulations, Kathleen. Hope you’re having a lovely large drink in your honour.

  2. Snooker is truly bizarre-although I met Steve Davis once (at the Leighton Orient Football Club footballer of the year awards at the Dorchester believe it or not!) and he’s a nice guy and surprisingly normal. Lord Andrew Loyd Webber and Frank Carson were also there, but that’s another story…What was your dissertation about?

    • Making Sense of the Self through Poetry and Prosody, with reference to Plath and Keats.

      But I’m none the wiser. About the Self that is.

      Anyway, enough about me. It’s time you
      did some more name dropping! Were Frank and Andy at the same table? I’d have paid
      good money to see that.

      • Keats and Yeats are on your side, but you lose because Wilde is on mine…

        Anyway, where was I…oh yes, the soire of the century. Check this-I was returning from the toilet (sorry for the detail) and all was quiet outside the main hall. The I spotted a small, fat silver headed man. In my moderately hammered state I locked on to said tinker in the grip of a wave of emotion. Yes, it was Frank Carson, the 1970s comedic legend. I attempted to explain that he was a genius (even though I had no clear memory of him in his comedy prime) and thanked him (with arm round his shoulder) for being a legend (or some shit like that) with a wonky grin.
        In response, Mr Comedy replied “Why don’t you fuck off son, I’m due on stage in a minute…”
        I was crushed.
        Apparently, after destroying me with words, Carson (who is in his eighties) spent an hour annoying 500 pissed football “fans” with dated jokes. It was like watching Muhammed Ali face Larry Homes. Some of us were so upset that we ended up at Stringfellows, but that is another story…


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