I am sure you are all aware that the 22nd of December was a momentous occasion for the Association. Our inaugural Christmas Soiree was planned meticulously. I even had to embark on a secret mission of my own with the help of my dear friend Mr Clayton. I salute you Sir, your courage and bravery will go down in the annals of history. But that story is for another day.
We started off as usual in The Town Crier but with a twist. This was Christmas and as such members of the Association were required to wear Christmas hats. Luckily for me I was able to dodge this photo opportunity but Mr Shaw was able to capture a few of our members in all their glory:
As we exited our taxis at Riley's there was already a few people waiting to enter. Its was 12:00 pm yet the doors were still closed. Had we turned up on the wrong date? Was Riley's going into liquidation? Voices were raised and I quote:
Mr Higgins “What's going on?”
Mr Hawker “What's fuckin goin on?”
Mr Sloane “ Yeah, what the fuck’s goin on?”
I would like to say I was the voice of calm during this slight blip but I was also worried. I was surrounded by seven angry men. I lit a cigarette and made my peace with the world. Then I heard the sound:
“CLICK”
The door to Riley's opened.
I was saved.
The mood lightened as we all piled into Riley's, but my thoughts were still with on my own safety until I turned around and saw this:
Someone this cute could not seriously hurt me?. I was right and the following photographic evidence will prove it:
Me and my new bestest mate.
I apologise Mr Shaw but you know the score.
The alcohol was flowing freely and the pool was being played by everyone (even me). Our host Mandy was looking after our every whim and as she brought me a pint of Guinness over I swear I saw a shard of light penetrate the hallowed halls of Riley's and over her shoulder I saw a giant of a man descend the stairs, Mr Richards had arrived. Now this was a shock to me as I hadn’t expected Mr Richards to turn up. We had exchanged several texts during the morning but as we all took our seats on the morning train I was not hopeful. So imagine my surprise when out of the blue I heard:
Mr Richards “All right bollocks? Fancy a Guinness?”.
Mr Millward “Fuckin right son”.
As Mr Richards settled into the flow of the day the ever looming poker tournament started to rear its ugly head. The urgency of this event was heightened by Mr Shaw who was eager to get his claws into the unsuspecting victims. I am not a poker player so I ducked out, but Shaw has blogged this event.
As the pool tables emptied and the poker players took their seats I was left in a quandary. Have I actually got to play pool? Could I handle sitting by Mr Higgins whilst eating Nachos?
I gave up the ghost and offered up a drunken challenge:
Mr Millward “Who the fuck thinks they can beat me at pool?”.
Everyone who was not playing poker “Me”.
I had made my bed so I had to lie in it. Mr Smith was the man who took up my challenge. Now I must admit, going into this game I felt confident. I have been out with Mr Smith on a few occasions and not once has he ever played pool with anyone of us. As I broke off I actually potted a ball, I squealed with delight only to turn around and realise that the lads playing snooker behind us had heard my girly cry and started pissing themselves laughing. This did little for my confidence but I was determined to carry on. We got down to the black and decided that it had to be potted off at least one cushion. I was in with a fighting chance under these rules and guess what? I actually won. Yes that's right I actually won a game of pool. With this confidence boost I threw down a best of three challenge to Mr Smith which he accepted and there Gentlemen ended my winning streak of one game. Mr Smith annihilated me whilst proclaiming with every shot: “I haven't played for twenty years”.
Now I will turn my attention to The Christmas Killer Pool Competition. As we finished gorging on the ridiculously sized buffet that Riley's had laid on for us, Mr Shaw declared the competition open. Mr Shaw gathered the prize from behind the bar, a beautifully crafted pool cue which had been supplied by Riley’s and the competition was afoot. Now my recollection of this game is very hazy to say the least, all I remember is constantly telling myself not to win (the photos below will explain why), not much chance of that happening but stranger things have happened. Mr Smith was the eventual winner even though he hadn’t played in over twenty years. The shark is strong in you Mr Smith.
That was the end of our time at Riley's and we all hurried off to Buffet City for another feast. Now I know what your thinking “How the hell could you eat after the spread that had been laid on for us?” well your right we couldn't, but money had been spent and we were going to give it our best shot. As Mr Smith walked through the centre of Chester with his trophy and pool cue proudly on display Mr Shaw raced ahead to take this photo:
I never knew you were so light of foot Mr Shaw. You do know the 2012 Olympics are being hosted in London? Maybe now is the time to think about a career in athletics.
So as we entered Buffet City with already full stomachs we attempted to gorge ourselves again and failed. The wine and beer continued to flow though and photographs of our time spent in Buffet City are provided below:
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That my dear reader would usually be the end of my post, but thanks to some insider information it has come to my attention that Mr Smith is proudly displaying his trophy as the center point in his front room.
