Watching the snooker on telly last week, reminded Hamish of a story about his Great Uncle Fergus.
‘Fergy lived on the coast,’ began Hamish, ‘where the woods came right down behind his cottage.
‘One evening, he was walking hame, round one of the GREEN BAIZE, when, through a BREAK in the trees, he saw that there was a light on in his kitchen. As he crossed the BRIDGE at the bottom of the garden he paused, FOR AWAY doon the path stood a figure, whose BULK filled the door FRAME of his wee cot. As he watched, the stranger moved inside and Fergy took his CUE to run up to the window and peep in.
‘The visitor was taking a REST, with his feet on a pile of Uncle’s CUSHIONS but he had already laid the table for tea and a POT was standing by the hearth.
‘Taking up a heavy PLANT-container, Fergy TIP-toed to the door but the intruder saw him, leaped to his feet and pulled something fray his POCKET.
‘It’s me!’ he protested, ‘your nephew Andy. You sent me this letter asking me tay tea!’
‘Andy!’ exclaimed Fergus, ‘It would have been a FOUL STROKE indeed, had I hit ye wi’ this pot! But ye’ve grown so I didna recognise ye.’
‘I see,’ he continued, ‘that ye have everything you need FORTY, ON THE TABLE and since I want EIGHTY-TWO, I suggest YOU TAKE THE CUP while I pour!’
‘It’s an interesting story,’ commented Dave, ‘but what’s it got to do with snooker?’
See you soon