Hot Shot

I have recently discovered that my pool skills have gone to pot (do you see what I did there - to pot - ah, the hilarity). Two weekends in a row I've ended my Saturday night by playing drunken pool (same as the normal kind, but you tend to stagger round the table more and pot the white often enough to justify the use of the phrase 'playing like a girl') in Havana, and both times I've astounded myself at how entirely inept I've become at it.

Don't get me wrong, I won both weekends, so I'm doing something right. But pool is a game where you can pot the most tricksy shots and miss the obvious ones, which makes you look a bit like a flukey twat. I've got to practise. I want to be the Queen of Pool, the Top Dog at the Table, the Lady of the Cue - actually, scrap that, I think the last one might be a porn film.

Last night, myself, Lainee, Dr Dan and his beautiful girlfriend Hannah decided to attend not one, but two of the Oberon Project's gigs around Southsea. The first was at the Black Bar, where we caught two bands playing back to back (by which I mean one after the other, not sharing a stage in a bizarre and probably musically unsound way). The bar was packed and one solitary barmaid was buzzing around it attempting to serve everyone - though not simultaneously, of course, you'd have to be Rainman to keep track of the bar bill.

We knew we had come to the right place when two men next to us shot past us at great speed, hit the floor and were rolling around. We all tensed, anticipating a fight, when suddenly it became apparent that the two guys were actually hugging, and had, in fact, hugged so overzealously they had fallen over.

"That's a lot of bonding," said Dr Dan, eyebrows raised.

We stayed to watch the two bands (and, for me, to people-watch a lot - there were some great outfits in the Black Bar last night, but full points for effort to the Dermot O'Leary lookee likee in faded jeans, white shirt, black tie and grey cardigan), before heading down to Havana as Dan was desperate for some heavy metal.

Unfortunately, we missed the bands, but did arrive in time for Lainee and I to catch a couple of games of pool. We caught up with Clarkie, of the Oberon Project there, who was kind enough to act as my Critical Friend and provide a running commentary on my game.

"Sarah, that was rubbish," he helpfully observed, as I messed up an obvious shot on the black.

"No, seriously, it's not funny any more," he pointed out as I missed it again.

So, I've decided I need to get back into the game. I'm going to practise my pool skills until I've earned the nickname Golden Cue.

Ok, well maybe not Golden Cue, it sounds too phallic. But something else that's impressive. Any ideas?