I’m a loyal sort of guy and not one for spilling the beans but it was about 40 years ago after all. I was working in an office in the City of London and sitting opposite this pretty young office junior who related to me an interesting tale about her private life. She was obviously bursting to tell someone, so she chose me.
I was big into the snooker at the time and had said something about it and she chirped “I know Tony Knowles personally”.
Tony Knowles was the pin-up boy of early 80s snooker – sleek and glamorous in his silk suits and his quaffed hair – he was a pop-star among players like Terry Griffiths and Denis Taylor who looked like your uncle’s turning up with boxes of fudge at a family occasion.
“O aye,” said I impressed but a little dubious.
“Yes, you know, I well…know him”
The days go on and then this one day she comes in with a scrap-book. Sure enough, there she is pictured with this handsome snooker player at events and tournaments her petite frame clothed in smart gowns and looking adoringly at her hero.
She confesses to me.
“Y’know, we’re like y’know,” she blushes prettily her eyelashes fluttering in a becoming female way “lovers”.
I’m sitting in a tax office shuffling pieces of paper around quasi-efficiently and drawing pictures on my desk with a biro through utter boredom and there’s this beguiling young doe-eyed female opposite who is not even trusted with more than the most basic stationary and she’s maybe about to tell me about her secret trysts with a top snooker star who has maybe shot the breeze with a gallon or two of brandy with the likes of Alex Higgins and Jimmy White.
She appreciates my understanding and obvious interest in her secret and exciting other life outside the profound mundanity of our surroundings but my next words may have shook her trust.
“I play a bit of pool myself, you know…!”
The mirage is shattered and no more is revealed.
No comments:
Post a Comment