SEEN BUT NOT HEARD

A move is afoot by the bridge hierarchy to encourage youngsters to take up bridge as a pastime; some even advocate that the game be included in school curriculums. We must strenuously resist this ill conceived idea; the computer literate kids of today will quickly make a mockery of the game. A new meritocracy of pubescent juveniles will emerge; they will shunt the likes of Sally Brock, Bernard Magee and Andrew Robson to the side-lines, bridge clubs will disappear and the game will confined to mobile phones and tablets.

We old ‘uns realise we are not the strongest players in the world but remember; the mediocre have a vested interest in mediocrity. Let us stand as firm as we able whilst raising our walking sticks defiantly in air. If we have to find some useful activities for children they should be persuaded to carry pensioners shopping baskets or climb up chimneys with a dustpan and brush.

TEMPUS FUGIT

It is sometimes difficult to know when you are old; the edges between middle-age and old-age have become blurred.  If any of the following apply you are definitely old.

1. You no longer sing ‘Climb every mountain’ when having your daily bath.
2. As you eat your lunch you wonder what you’ll be having for supper.
3. You can be heard muttering when buying something new; ‘It’ll see me out’.
4. You no longer wonder what happened to Alma Cogan.
5. You sing ‘I did it my way’ when having your weekly bath.
6. You stop buying light coloured trousers.
7. You wait until June is out before casting a clout.
8. You take bridge lessons to keep your brain active.
9. You play bridge because balls are not involved.
10. Having a monthly bath becomes a chore.

BE WARNED

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YOUR BRIDGE PARTNER NOT CUTTING THE MUSTARD?

SEE YOUR LOCAL GUNSMITH TO-DAY

INVEST IN A NEW OR USED FIREARM

YOU’LL BE AMAZED AT HOW YOUR PARTNERS PERFORMANCE PERKS UP

WHEN FACING A LOADED SMITH & WESSON!

DOGS DINNER

My clout had been cast; I sat in the municipal park enjoying the early June sunshine as I waited for my old friend Digby. I like Digby a lot but he does have one serious fault; he is a bridge bore. He knows well enough I have no interest what-so-ever in the pastime but this does not prevent him chuntering on to me about hands he has played using jargon that at times I barely comprehend: I happily put up with this as for the most part he is an amiable companion and good-hearted.

Eventually Digby arrived and sat beside me, to my surprise he was accompanied by a black Newfoundland dog of immense proportions. “What’s with the pooch?” I asked.

Digby sighed then went on to tell me Orlando; for that is the beasts name was bequeathed to him by his late Aunt Adeline and this was presenting him with big problems. She had left her entire estate, property, money and possessions to Digby as her sole relative with the proviso that he care for Orlando: specifically he was instructed that on no account should the animal be left without human company as he would howl relentlessly, he was also advised that Orlando was partial to chicken.

I told Digby that in view of the generosity of his Aunt his problem was not so great.

“So I also thought” said Digby: “When I went to my bridge club I took Orlando with me; at first all was well, he slept quietly by my feet dreaming doggie dreams but then….” Here he shuddered, “At our last meeting one of the members opened her shopping bag which just happened to contain a Marks and Spencer cooked chicken, I’ve never seen such a large animal move so quickly, he was on to the bird like a ferret down a rabbit hole. Naturally the members tried to retrieve the chicken but Orlando was having none of it; he treated it as a huge game and dashed around the room like a Dervish, we tried to restrain him but to no avail, tables and chairs were turned over; cards and bidding boxes scattered around the room. It took best part of an hour to sort things out, the session had to be cancelled and I was told Orlando was never to go near the club again.”

We sat in silence for a while, I knew what was coming. “Would you look after Orlando twice a week so I don’t have to give up my Bridge?”

I looked down, the dog was spread out gently drooling over Digby’s shoes, I was about to suggest my friend employ the services of a dog sitter; instead I heard myself saying, “Exactly how much did your Aunt Adeline leave you?”

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