Whisky Magazine Issue 41
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Dave ‘The Brush' Broom on potting, pirates and promotions
If the truth be told, I've never been particularly good at snooker. The myopia doesn't help. Neither does the fact that I usually only end up playing it at the end of what has already been an extremely long night.
Who am I kidding? It's down to a total inability to work out the angles.
I was never good at geometry at school. Why should things change suddenly? OK, so there's the occasional lucky shot, but I'm not fooled into thinking that it is any more than that; bizarre, freakish chance.
This total ineptitude was on full public display on Jura recently. The table was there, so was a gathering of what I had previously thought of as some of the more recherché members of the whisky industry. How wrong could I be? While the more refined members of the party sat and chatted, those who picked up the cue displayed evidence of having wasted their teenage years in sticky carpeted basement poolhalls.
At least I managed to instil a certain element of humour into what was on the verge of becoming a tense game. I was dubbed Barnes Wallis for my ability (or skill as I prefer to call it) to bounce the cue ball over the colour I was aiming at and directly into a pocket — or off the table entirely.
At one point, feeling a little more confident — I blame the Port Ellen for that — I tried to lie along the table in order to slide the red into the bottom left corner pocket. I fell off. You see? Just couldn't work out the angle.
You couldn't accuse Leonard Russell, aka ‘the Glengo...