HEROES ALL

It was a long time ago; two thousand five hundred and five years to be exact when Pheidippides ran from Marathon to Athens to pass on the news of a famous victory over the Persians. Dippy as he was known to his mates little realised the can of worms he opened as immediately he had passed on the message the poor lad popped his clogs, due to him the foundation stone for the Olympic Games was laid in 490 BC.

It is now surely only a matter of time before bridge together with monopoly and Sumo wrestling are recognised as Olympic sports. The bridge elite of Britain must prepare themselves for this eventuality now if they wish to become successful Olympians and bring home the bacon. They must address the question of drugs, does the taking a couple of Paracetamol to ease the pain of arthritis or having a few large gin and tonics to steady one’s nerve infringe the rules? They must definitely embark upon a regime of hard physical exercise to ensure a healthy brain operates in a healthy body. Long languid lunches and comfort food suppers in front of the telly are definitely out for Team GB bridge players, it will be hard but the rewards are great; a Damehood or Knighthood is certainly on the cards for any British player reaching the podium. RIP Dippy!

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IT’S A FACT

My bridge partner amazes me, not only does he belong to several local bridge clubs playing three or four times a week he is also keen on racing yachts; he owns three. Now when you consider the pleasure of owning a yacht has been likened tearing up £50 pound notes whilst having a cold shower owning three vessels is going it somewhat. Added to all this is the fact that as often as not he commutes to his various venues burning up the tarmac on a Yamaha motor cycle, such boundless energy of one in his seventies is truly awe inspiring.

During a lull in one of our recent bridge sessions I quizzed my partner as to the merits of racing yachts, He soon lost me in a mire of nautical terminology. He spoke of Bermuda rigs, Cat rigs, and Gaff rigs, of luffing and tacking. He spoke of sheets which to you and I are something we climb between when we go to bed but to a yachtsman is a rope, there are mainsheets, jib sheets and spinnaker sheets. I felt I was three sheets to the wind as I tried to take all this in. He also spoke of the thrill of battling the elements, of gauging the ebb and flow of the tide and judging the direction and strength of the wind, of the sheer physical effort required in overcoming wet and often cold conditions.

I suggested that the purely cerebral nature of bridge where all he had to think about was whether to finesse or not, where and when to duck a trick and to make sure he drew trumps early was a great antidote to all the effort required in sailing a yacht. He gave the matter some thought before remarking, somewhat unkindly I thought that he also had to fathom out what the hell my last bid meant. He was joking….I think!

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MEATY MATTERS

The American travel writer Paul Theroux  in his best selling book “The Kingdom by the Sea” written some thirty years ago commented on the fact that many retired Brits headed for the coast where they would spend countless hours gazing wistfully seaward. This behaviour seemed somewhat odd to him, he came to the conclusion that they were either fantasizing as to what lay beyond the horizon or were ruefully reflecting upon the loss of a once mighty empire.

Oh no Mr. Theroux, had you dug a little deeper you would have discovered that our gallant  retiree’s were almost certainly bridge players, they were undoubtedly pondering such matters as how they would have made their contracts the previous evening had they drawn trumps early, taken the finesse or ensured they had left an entry to dummies hand. They were also possibly wondering what on earth bright spark opponent’s alerts of Bergen Raises or Rubensohl meant. Were you a bridge player Mr. Theroux you would realise these concerns are of far more importance than the mere loss of an empire. On the other hand they may have simply been wondering as to what was on the menu for supper at their boarding house.

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CARRY ON BANNING

Now that smoking and fox-hunting have been banned our government must, in a quest for Utopia, look for other activities to ban; mountaineering readily comes to mind. It is an incontrovertible fact that mountaineering, as anyone who has fallen off one will attest, is bad for your health. This places a great strain upon the already over stretched resources of our National Health Service. Mountains are useless great lumps of rock; they must be flattened thus providing much needed land upon which we could build new homes. The rock from the demolished mountains could be sold by Garden Centres to create ornamental features in homesteads across the land.

Another pastime that should be considered for banning is the playing of bridge, most bridge player’s labour under the delusion that by participating in the game they are holding back the onset of dementia. The exact opposite is the case, they have to be somewhat demented to take up the game in the first place, playing involves sitting for countless hours doing untold damage to their posteriors as they try to fathom the intricacies of the bidding and play. Fifty percent of the time their conclusions are wrong which makes them bad tempered, no wonder neurologists are rushed off their feet, their surgeries are full with unrequited bridge players.

Should you be a pipe puffing occasional mountaineer who likes nothing more than galloping across fields in pursuit of the uneatable followed by a few hands of bridge life will be tough, take heart however; solace is at hand; you can turn on the telly and watch Strictly Come Dancing as you enjoy a large gin and tonic. Alcohol Has not been banned……yet!

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WE LOVE TO GO A WANDERING

Bridge players are a peripatetic bunch which is much to their credit, they are prepared to travel vast distances be it by boat, train or aeroplane in pursuit of their passion whilst at the same time taking in a bit of culture. There is virtually no destination off-limits to them.

Ulan Bator? Here we come! The Serengeti Plains? Why not!

It is therefore strange that Australia seldom appears upon a bridge player’s itinerary. It’s a shame really as Australia has so much to offer. OK, so it takes twenty-three hours on a Jumbo jet to get there but what can be more pleasant than sitting in a Sydney harbour-side café overlooking the Opera House? As you tuck into a Koala steak sandwich you can happily contemplate an afternoon session of bridge with your Australian cousins. If you’re lucky you may get to meet Kylie Minogue.

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