One classic match was in The Royal pub, Portsmouth, in which I needed to pot a black the full length of the fairly short table to level it at 3-3 except the white was lodged against the top cushion. I had just had to clear up 5 colours to get that far. Having studied it for some time, I cued down as required, rattled the black in the jaws of the corner pocket three or four times and then it decided to come out rather than go down, thus, 4-2 to Gillian but a tremendous encounter.
Most of the action took place in the Old Vic but we would play anywhere, including a Saturday afternoon after watching a Merseyside derby, when I was in the neverland of being 2-1 up when a hiatus in play was caused by the arrival of her friend, Emily, and after the resumption, I went on to lose 3-2. Oh, those were the days, or some of them. My Friday nights have been quieter since she left Portsmouth. I was glad when our last encounter on National Poetry Day a few years ago was left at 1-1.
In the position pictured, I think she wants to pot the red into the top corner with just enough on it to being the white off the top cushion to leave the awkward red on into the bottom right corner. She can stun that to leave the red across the table to the middle left pocket after which the last red can be knocked into this corner over here, hopefully with the angle to screw back to put the black in the other corner. Easy.
If I'd been playing the yellows against her in this position in olden days I wouldn't have been expecting to get another shot.
