Easy As 123....

Well that's it. We've sorted out our insurance, booked our flights and told work when we are leaving. I have written the largest cheque I have ever written (£1001 for my flights and insurance... I felt weak afterwards) and have had a rather fun pub crawl on Friday night, thinly veiled as an attempt to find a venue for our leaving bash.

Monday is now upon us. All the schools I work with have broken up for the summer (which is ironic as looking out the window today, it looks as if the summer is now over), it's cold and grey, and there is a very eeriee silence at work!!!

As there are no schools, we are not getting the mad hysterical phone calls and barrage of e-mails and abuse we are used to. I miss it! It feels as if it could be a long summer. Mind you, the deeper we get into the summer, the nearer it is to Canada.

I'm busy training up the new boy. Rob, is Ian's brother and is taking over from us at the NEBP. He may be a hit with the ladies, but when he made me tea instead of coffee this morning, all pleasantriess were dispensed with, and the fury unleashedd. It's for his own good. He'll need a thick skin for this job.

(Just kidding Rob, I'm loving your work)

Imagine then dear reader, my relief as lunchtime approached. Rob, Ian and I strolled purposefully down to the last bastion of refuge, the Edward VII pub (where else) for a lemonade and a quick game of darts.

"BLAST!" I cried when I realised that I had left my darts at home. I was worried that we might actually have had to talk to each other. My fears were allayed when we stumbled on the pubs set.

I use the word "set" in it's loosest possible sense. They were more of a collection of three different sets of darts with different barrels and weights. They also had some knackerd blue flights which at least gave the impression of uniformity.

As the game got underway, we realised that we were setting new benchmarks in terms of our play. We were missing the board and marking the benches. When going for the doubles we ere hitting the score board more than the dart board. Lets face it, we couldn't hit a barn door let alone a double.

A bad sportsman always blames his tool. I was just about to become a very bad sportsman, when something rather strange happened.

After 9 darts we all had roughly 130 left. Ian went for the big 170 checkout, but when he hit 6 with his first dart he knew it was not going to be his day. I was left with, yes you guessed it.... 123.

First dart, go for odds, I hit the treble 19. Sixty six remaining. I go for 20, playing the percentage game, by leaving myself with single 10 or 6 for a shot at a double. But I hit the treble 20. Six left! Double three for a personal best 123 checkout.

Bang!Straight in. It was never in doubt. The darting gods were with me today. I felt as if I could miss it. The darting gods are a fickle bunch.

Back in the office now and it's still gray and cold.That's why I thought I'd write myself a little blog, so when I'm feeling bored, I can relive my highly insignificant moment of glory again.

God bless. (photo courtesy of Sir Ian Pope... What a silly grin!)