A little something to ward off the Dark Nights

It was the worst of times.

I cleaned all the windows, including the frames, just as the rain appeared with his big pal, the wind, and the glass became tainted again. The weather also interfered with my attempts to recycle the cardboard packaging. Old Gusty blew some containers out of my hands and into the next garden. The fence was too big and slippery to scale so I shrugged. The curtains drew back from next door and to avoid neighbour rage I ran like the wind.

A wee game of snooker cures all ills. I sauntered to the pool hall. Along the way I encountered many fallen umbrellas with disjointed spokes. What kind of human tries to put a brolly up in a hurricane? It’s just asking for a concave to become convex. Life is a game of angles.

The balls weren’t running for me, I had developed the yips. Weather induced, alcohol induced, who knows, it was induced somehow. Every time I went to play a shot I sh-sh-shook my cue hand. My delighted opponent gave me a twitching lip, rubber-legged rendition of All Shook Up. Including an over the top- Mm mm mm, mm, yay, yay, yay. It livened the place up.

Soon the regulars were dancing on the tables. One player picked up the brown ball and belted out a stirring Brown Sugar. This brought a pocket of the old-timers back to life and they rolled about until they got tired. Then they had a rest. For the young squad the party was just starting and routines were breaking out all over the shop. A vaudeville artist was joining all the triangles together then playing them like an accordion.

It was the first time a spider had been used to air guitar.

A dog lover picked up the yellow ball to sing Old Yeller.

Two tin-drinking natives did the can-can.

The owner sang Purple Rain. Not a snooker colour but then he is colour blind. There was a Red Stripe in his hand acting as the MIC.

It was the best of times.

This shang-a-lang went on longer than a Terry Griffiths break. A Chas and Dave cavalcade of beer, song and banter. A definite musical in the making. What to call this melody of madness? Maybe, a little doff of the cap to MGM.

Singing inside, no rain.

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