Friday night

It was the end of a tough week and Friday night was a home alone affair.

A certain amount of channel surfing took place prior to chancing upon pro-celebrity darts and my word what an absolutely fine choice it transpired to be.

A smattering of individuals who make a living out of the arrows were joined with 'celebrities' that included Razor Ruddock, a flat nosed rugby international, Tuffers, some weird looking bloke who was a top notch poker player, and get this, the brilliantly thought through, Olympic javelin chucker and eventual winner, whose name temporarily escapes me.

Naturally Stoke-on Trent's very own Phil Taylor was present

Darts has got to be the last bastion of a truly working class 'sport'. The audience was a heady mixture of larger consuming, peroxide supporting, tattoo displaying, chubsters. Not of course that the aforementioned list is exclusive to the dirty hand brigade, just that they are more likely to possess a full-house. Without doubt the greatest disappointment surrounded the absence of Zara Philips, fiancee of aforementioned rugger bugger, apparently she had a previous engagement.

Tuffers entrance was most impressive and only surpassed by being introduced as winner of 'I'm a celebrity....' with some latter acknowledgement that he used to represent his country at some sport or other. These announcers know their audience.

There followed some wonderfully inept dart throwing from the celebs, the ocassional fluke, (Razor hit double-top to close the first game and fell to pieces thereafter) fantastically patrionising comments aimed at the sole lady pro, and much frivolity amongst the
lager swilling classes.

You read it here first, darts, it's the future, book your corporate box for next year, now.