@ragnel,
Yes but how come it took a Pommie to inform you lot of the event.
Quote:And an Australian trouser is in the World Snooker semi-final and leading 4-0 in a best of 33 frames match with a Brit.
I'm afraid that our man, the Pocket Dynamo, a wee Scotsman with an Italian accent, (that's a joke for the serious literature fanatics), got rather tired by the last session. Whether it was due to the gruelling match he had with Mark Selby the night before he stepped into the arena with Mr Robertson, the Thunder from Down-Under, who was well rested after winning his semi-final with the ex-airline pilot, Ali Carter, a fairly easy win too, or the dramatic breaking news that was shaking Scottish snooker about "unusual betting patterns" being associated with his countryman and ex-World Champion John Higgins, the Wizard from Wishaw, or that his most deliciously cuddly spouse had joined him in Sheffield so that she could be on TV sharing the glory now that he had got into the final.
The camera regularly cut to her sat in the audience weeing in her knickers thinking what they could get with the prize money and to the two little monsters they had spawned together, one of whom looked confused, as well he might, and the other didn't give a ****. She had travelled down the night before after he beat Mark Selby, whose stage name I forget, The Jester from Leicester from Google. She was talked about in those soft silky tones which matched the soft silky lighting in which she bathed which came from the bright overhead lamps over the green baize and which were very flattering.
Which is probably just as well for when it came to cutting to the lady who had come all the way from Aussieland, at the last moment, when she heard her son had beat Ali Carter, the Flying Foreskin, in order to be on telly and maybe get a small piece of the action. She was accompanied by her "partner" who looked how one might imagine Chips Rafferty to have looked had one been unaware of what Chips Rafferty looked like. Which I'm not. One of my earliest marathon giggling fits was seeing a film of Chips singing Waltzin' Matilda on a sandy bank in what looked like a dried up river bed. It was almost as good as Al Jonson doing Mami. After Subterranean Homesick Blues gets in your veins you can't help giggling. Try listening to Strangers in the Night after listening to Just Like Tom Thumb Blues in its 1981 reincarnation.
Anyway-- I won't say "I digress" because you all know I digressed and it would be insulting your intelligences to tell you as a way of flanelling out the words to get the required number done to fit on the page so that there's room for the ads, like with the coal carrier crash articles. As I was saying--anyway--she was in an even darker shade of soft-silky and some very nice things were said about her too.
The commentators forbore to even hint, as our man started to sken in about the 20th frame, that Dottie, as I call the Pocket Dynamo, had been in bed all night with a wife-squeeze as cuddly as you couldn't think up in a fantasy after nearly two weeks of ascetic discipline and dedication to potting and ball position practice as he ground through the early rounds and the Thunder from Down Under had been saying Goodnight to his Mum as her taxi pulled away to take her to another hotel accompanied by his step-partner.
But didn't she hug him when he'd won. It probably runs on her side of the family.
He looks a great lad though. But he did upset a few intellectuals by taking five minutes over one particular shot. It is difficult for an intellectual to imagine taking five minutes over a simple shot at snooker, and it certainly wasn't a difficult choice, when this weary world of woe is surveyed. It is wanting to win a little too much.
The Australian cricket teams are regularly criticised for that by sporting gentlemen.
)
) Which leads to guessing games, then cheers, jeers & poo-pooing when they finally hit on the "right" team! 
