NOT FOR THE NERVOUS

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COMING TO A CINEMA NEAR YOU

I WAS A BRIDGE PLAYERS MOLL

AMAZING REVELATIONS THAT WILL SHOCK YOU!

Triple X rated

Not suitable for those of a nervous disposition

Bus passes must be shown to gain admittance

THE WAY WE WERE

With acknowledgement to the late Somerset Maugham

 

The passage on a wood burning paddle steamer up the Lingalonga River was uneventful apart from an occurrence halfway into the  journey when loin clad natives lined the river bank on the port side and angrily shook their fists; some using blow pipes propelled what were presumably poisoned darts in our direction. Fortunately we were well over to the starboard side and the missiles fell woefully short. Two days later upon arrival I mentioned this to Murchison, he stated the natives along that stretch were particularly belligerent and that he intended to pacify them in the near future; he was of the opinion that supplying them with opium would do the trick.

Murchison as well as being plantation manager also acted as political officer for the region; an area the size of Wales. For two weeks we inspected the territory travelling on horse-back, all was as it should be; the natives were hard working and appeared to be reasonably content, floggings were rare and executions almost non-existent.

I dined with the Murchison’s on my last night and was glad to see they preserved the tradition of dressing for dinner even though they were the only Europeans within a hundred mile radius apart from the occasional Bolshevik undercover agent. During the meal I asked Murchison to what he attributed the success of his station? “Keep the natives occupied during their rest period” he replied, “The memsahib and I introduced them to the game of bridge some time ago, soon they were surprisingly good at the pastime but we had to abandon the project as they became too aggressive when there were disputes over bidding or revoking. They have a blade similar to the kukri, with which they can disembowel a pig in less than ten seconds, best not to dwell upon the consequences of their arguments. We have now formed them into choral societies; they are especially fond of Gilbert and Sullivan”. At the end of the meal; over a chotapeg and a cheroot he handed me large wax sealed manila envelope the contents of which would eventually, via the diplomatic bag, end up at the Foreign Office in London.

All the foregoing happened  many years ago, now trips along the Lingalonga are commonplace; the area is part of the tourist trail, instead of assailing visitors with poisoned darts the natives offer to sell them plastic replicas of shrunken heads whilst at the same time serenading them with excerpts from The Pirates of Penzance. Be warned however, should you be invited to join them for a hand or two of bridge….. Old habits die hard!

 

OLD JOKES ARE THE BEST

Our bridge session over Uncle Fred and I retired to the smoking-room; our wives to the kitchen. Uncle Fred took up his electronic Meerschaum, inserted a capsule into the bowl and switched on. Vigorous puffing induced a violet hue to the capsule and soon he was contentedly exhaling a benign moisturised vapour into the atmosphere.

“As you know some years back I spent a period in Alaska which is where bridge had its beginnings” said Uncle Fred between puffs.

I ventured to suggest that the game had its roots in America. My uncle fixed me with a scornful glare, “As any school child will tell you” he said “ Alaska has been part of America for over 100 years; they purchased the territory from Russia for about a penny an acre and a lifetimes supply of peanut butter for the Tsar and his family. Turned out to be a prudent investment: the entire Romanoff family were assassinated by the Bolsheviks a few years later”. He gingerly tamped down the glowing capsule and as I knew he would continued his discourse, “Bridge is very important to Alaskans; helps them through the long winter nights. Of course they have other winter pursuits, dog sledding, salmon fishing, and caribou and moose hunting, they are very much into outdoor activities; as Jack London would have it ‘The Call of the Wild’. After a days hunting or  mushing dogs nothing soothes as much as a few hands of bridge followed by a steaming bowl of ptarmigan soup”.

“Perhaps penguin pie” I said somewhat unwisely

“The only penguins you’ll find in Alaska are covered in chocolate, we are talking Arctic not Antarctic” said Uncle Fred.

Feeling rather stupid I asked what Alaskans did in the summer.

With a hint of a smile my uncle replied, “I really don’t know: I was only there for eleven months”.

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A BOON AND A BLESSING

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BY THE LEFT

“Beware of left-wing intellectuals” said Courtney as he fiddled with his cats-whisker aerial. Ignoring the remark I suggested to my friend that as he was not short of a bob or two he should dump the contraption he was working on and invest in a decent digital radio.

“Nonsense” Courtney replied, “If this contraption as you call it was good enough for my wise old granny it’s good enough for me: I picked up Hilversum last week, anyway as I suspect you haven’t called to discuss my wireless why are you here”?

“I’ve started taking bridge lessons” I told him. I went on to explain what a marvellous game it was; how there were so many facets to it: you had to learn how to evaluate your hand, how to bid correctly, how to make a contract and defend against one.

“How does this affect me?” he asked.

“Well” I replied “I thought you could join me, come with me to the lessons, when we think the time is right we could become members of a local club: we would be a partnership. I’m sure you will enjoy playing such a stimulating game”. Courtney gave a non-committal shrug and it was then that I over-played my hand. “Lots of famous people play”.

“Such as?” Courtney asked.

“Well for a start there are members of the House of Lords, Baroness Billingham and Baroness Henig play and Bill Gates is a very keen player”

“Bah; just as I thought” said Courtney “a game for ruddy left-wing intellectuals. Thank you but no thank you”.

Should there be any left-wing intellectuals out there looking for a bridge partner I am available.

THINGS THEY ARE A CHANGING

Time was when bridge was very much the preserve of the middle and upper classes. The pastime was usually an after dinner affair with the gentlemen wearing dinner suits and  black bow ties; the ladies were adorned with Ostrich feathers and smoked cigarettes through long jade holders, occasionally Noel Coward was on hand to tinkle the ivories. Agatha Christie was very much of this milieu; she had her Belgian sleuth Hercule Poirot solve many a baffling crime with his knowledge of the game, if you had a few bob in the bank and a stately pile those were the days!

With the growing popularity of duplicate bridge all that has changed: the Baronial Hall setting has been superseded by the local Church Hall, dress code is now the scruffier the better. International players are likely to turn up when representing their country wearing a grubby tee-shirt bearing the inscription ‘bridge players do it sitting down’.

It is now what you know not who that counts; egalitarianism not inequality matters and who can argue against that? Perhaps Dame Maggie Smith and the Downton Abbey crowd may raise an eyebrow or two but nobody else cares.

*****

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!

*****

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!

*****

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.

*****

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!

*****