Super snooker

It’s been an age since I’ve watched any snooker. The Masters is on at the moment and, in a fit of pique, I decided to watch last night’s highlights rather than an episode of something American (like I normally enjoy at lunchtime). And I’m glad I did.

At first I groaned when I discovered that Sean Murphy was playing. He plays a good game and has an amazing cue action but I really cannot admire someone who, when he won his first big championship said it was because of God. Seriously? So who is to blame when he loses? Another mythical creature? What about all the hours of practice and any inherent talent he may have? I feel sorry for his parents if they invested any time and energy into his career because clearly they had nothing to do with it.

Obviously someone with such a powerful backer does not need any support from little old me so I choose to despise and abhor him. Okay, that’s possibly a bit strong but I do hate these supposed Christians who put themselves above everyone else when they win something by claiming God did it. What about their opponent? What did God have against them? Surely a proper Christian would prefer their opponent to win.

Anyway, I needn’t have worried. Barry Hawkins made mince meat out of Sean. I guess God was having a day off, eh Sean?

Barry chalks up his second win over Sean Murphy

Then, imagine my joy when I found out that the live match was going to be between two of my favourite players. Aussie Neil Robertson and the mighty Rocket, Ronnie O’Sullivan. It was a tough match to choose who to support so I decided to just enjoy the skills that should have been on display.

Neil Robertson lining up for a classic long distance pot

It was not a classic encounter between the two of them.

A thoughtful Ronnie

And while Neil played a few of his amazing long range pots and diabolical positioning shots, Ronnie was too much for him and won without a century break.

After the game Ronnie went straight to the commentary box where he had a chat. He’s mellowed a bit over the years and now actually speaks to people…which is nice. Apparently he’s interested in politics at the moment. Could stand as an MP for the Labour party according to an article in the Guardian. So interested in ‘party’ politics then.

I like the way he wants to help the lot of the ordinary working men and women who are struggling to make ends meet etc, etc but then wants to join a political party. When you’re a member of the party, it’s the party line and not what your constituents want, Ronnie.

All that aside, I thoroughly enjoyed it all (especially Murphy’s defeat) and it made a lovely change.

The Rat
One of the rats (I’m assuming there’s more than one because one comes from Dave & Gail’s to feed on the terrace and the other one I’ve seen darting into the Crazies’ place) found its way into the big rat trap that’s been sitting waiting for close to a year.

The rats have been a problem for a while now and it makes feeding the birds a real pain because the food attracts them. One died a while back. It looked to be suffering from poisoning but before I could figure out how to put it out of its misery humanely, it saved me the trouble by dying on its own. After this we didn’t see another rat for a while and we thought they’d gone away. Not so, however.

We soon had an unwelcome guest on the terrace every day, nibbling away at the bird seed. We bought a trap but they clearly knew what it was and just ignored it…even with cheese in it. The trap is a cage and once they’re in they can’t get back out.

The poodles would always react when we said ‘CATSSSSSSSSS’ because they hated them and would go racing out into the garden to scare any felines away. The Cocker-poos, on the other hand, have learned to do the same when we say ‘RATSSSSSSSSS’ and go hell for leather to the bit of garden between the terrace and the higgledy piggledy palisade which is unfortunately getting called the Rat Run.

Anyway, today, sometime between 10:30 and midday, a rat managed to get into the cage. I realised when Freya alerted me to the fact. She was prowling around the cage giving her Gremlin impression as the rat tried to cower in a non-existent corner. In fact, it squeaked a lot in response to Freya’s gurgling.

I threw it some peanuts to make sure it didn’t die of starvation and ignored it for the rest of the day. I had to keep calling Freya away because she was sure the rat wanted to play with her. I waited for the sun to go down.

Once it was dark I placed the cage in a green garbage bag and carried it up to the park. I also took a torch. Once I reached the Avenue I put the cage down and released the rat. It was off like a little furry rocket.

Mirinda thinks it might find it’s way back. And now I’m thinking I should have spattered it with some paint so we could tell.