Wednesday, 9 September 2009

The Trossachs, dear

In Scotland for a week. I'll be putting myself through a fitness regime similar to the one Rocky did in number IV. Yeah the one against that monstrous Russian bloke. This is the snooker room where the training began. I challenged my monstrous brother to a game. A game so low in score that with only four colours remaining we were both on 6. Some sharp shooting and meticulous safety's were needed in order to clinch this tense end to the first frame. But tiredness had crept into my game and I had declared my dry-eye as he slotted home the blue and pink with some gusto. There was no coming back. I'd lost the first round. Cut to the montage.

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