Alex69

HELLO, good evening & welcome to my latest blog. Something very weird happened when I last threw a couple of tips out from the East Wing of my sprawling country manor house.

They both lost.

I'm rarely lost for words, but...
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I digress. I've been suffering some pretty tough times of late. I had to get shot of the vacuum cleaner (to be fair, it was only gathering dust), I had to play a game of snooker behind enemy lines (more about this later) and my football team of choice hasn't won a league match all season.

So, about the snooker. I was recently invited by a dear relative of mine (yup, he cost the best part of a million to buy) for a few games of snooker at the local Conservative Club. Obvs, this went against all my extreme socialist principles but I thought to myself a) It was a genuine friendly gesture b) I could always block the toilets & graffiti-ize the place and c) It's not like I'm selling my soul to the devil and, let's face it, Miliband is almost as much of a ted as Cameron these days.

We entered the building & I needed a wall street, so I asked aforementioned benevolent Uncle where the gentlemen's urinals were. He replied: 'Over there, on the far right.'
To which I quipped: 'Well, that figures.'

Upon entering the snooker room I was quite taken aback by the quality of the cloth - and the number of 'DON'T DO THIS, DON'T DO THAT & DON'T DO THE OTHER' BY ORDER OF THE COMMITTEE' notices.

Inevitably, I won each & every frame, combining long potting & clever snookers with the appliance of lots of 'English' (as the Americans call it) to return the cue ball to well behind the baulk line just in case.

Overall, it was a very enjoyable session, especially as it was only 50p per 20 minutes. I'll be going back there again, but the next time I'll take my red chalk (which is BANNED BY ORDER OF THE COMMITTEE).

So, onto the tips. Not the cue tips. Or the Q-Tips. Or toast, not the slightest bit of toast...

Back Chelsea to stay unbeaten at home all season. You heard it here first. They won't lose in the league at Stamford Bridge. If they do, I'll be writing a stiff letter to the Conservative Club's secretary - wait for it, this is no word of a lie, a certain Mr D TURPIN.

You couldn't make it up.

Muchos Amour

006.9