When I lived at home, my father had a giant pool table. We played snooker, but I prefer to call it a pool table. Because it seemed like the thing to do, I spent heaps of time practicing, often with my grandfather, who was a really good player. I ended up being good enough to beat almost any of my acquaintances from the break, often upsetting men several years older than me, who would go into intricate reasons for why I’d won, which didn’t involve any credit for me being better than them.

So after so many years of practice, it was distressing to be beaten rather hideously by my friend Pete this afternoon, not once, or twice, but five times. Granted, it’s been about twelve months since I last played, but even I was horrified at some of the dodgy shots I performed. While most of my new years resolutions involved some sort of healthy living content, I decided today on a belated resolution, which is to gain back my mad pool playing skillz.

Some of my friends who are the best players are total nerds, and claim it’s all about simple trigonometry, which makes me wonder why schools don’t pitch grifting as a good reason to study maths. I used to think ability was enhanced by being just “drunk enough” (whatever that is) - but now I don’t drink regularly enough to put that to the test. But by the time the end of the year comes, I swear I will beat Pete at least three times, and one of them will be from the break. A big call, but it’s my pride at stake, dammit.

I also hear a rumour (from my parents) the phrase isn’t pool shark, it’s sharp. They were talking about card sharks/sharps, but I have to say I much prefer shark, so although it’s wrong, I’ll keep saying it.

Today I’m loving: all the sweet children in my class this morning.