The Train Track Home
Trust me when I say I didn’t plan this but it happened anyway! I met a friend who is a post graduate student on a phd course about chemistry I think but I am not entirely sure. Anyway, he may be a super geek, but, he likes Liverpool football club so he isn’t all that bright. Well, he invited me for a Christmas drink because basically he needed to feel superior and hopefully get laid and who better to have as company but me the eternal waster and seducer of barmaids?
So we hit the town and the bars with Christmas gusto, like a house-husband with a new gold credit card. I think my friend had some sort of bursary so he was mega flushed and I was happy to hang on for dear life. My friend Paul got a phone call from one of his university pals and he arranged to meet us to partake in the good fortune of the bursary kick back, which was fine by me as running around town, the more the merrier.
The lady chasing was not going well and we were getting more drunk in our desperate attempt to pull. We got in with a group of women who seemed to be game for a laugh and they wanted to get over the office party that they were in. However, their work mates was not impressed with our antics and persuaded the ladies that we were not the sort of people the company they worked for would like to be associated with especially when we got asked to leave from the bar for ‘playing rugby’ with a pint glass.
By the end it was clear the only thing we were going to pull was a dodgy donner kebab and a plate of chips! As we started to make our way back to the digs when the subject of poker came up and it turned out that not only my mate Paul started to play poker but his pal also played poker and believed that he was quite good so it was suggested that a nice ‘family game’ should take place and I was not about to say no.
After three hours of a drunken school of poker I was £175 up! Yep I was winning and I had covered most of my night out with only the train money in deficit. The game itself was quite extraordinary. They were after inside straights and flush draws as if it was going out of fashion. I was more than happy to oblige until my friend started to get fed up of losing, at which point I thought out of friendship I should cease to take his and his student mate’s cash, make my excuses and go home. I had a great idea of making my exit. I went to the toilet stuck my fingers down my throat and puked up.
The lads were understandable that being a ‘light weight’ I had to go home and they would have to wait to win their money back. I made my apologies for being soft and went home. Ahhh that lovely smell of winning as I waited for the train. The mixture of metal grease, morning dew and cash in the pocket after a great night out was brilliant! Mixing it with the really early morning risers as they make their way to work while I stank of beer, kebab and sweat was a sensation that would certainly have woken the most sleepiest of head.
It is funny how the sensation of winning heightens all your senses and the smell was so invigorating that I could not sleep and as soon as I got washed and changed I was out for another spin of gambling, but this time I lost £35! I would have been a lot more down but got lucky when I dog I backed in a double had its race voided because the hare stopped running. My first dog won a 5/2 and the hot favourite I had for the double got baulked at the start and could not win. So to get away with the hare stop running was a real result. I took the losses and went home to bed happy that lady luck had finally smiled at me.