The days settle into a familiar pattern where my Master rises at the crack of dawn for several hours work in the media centre for which I join him for the last ninety minutes and escort various supplicants for an audience with him which they gain in return for a latte.
He then toddles off to starbucks, then toddles for a few hours play in some little known poker format, toddles back to starbucks and more play beofre generally retiring before midnight in a welter of recrimination about how a 95 year old Cowboy from Arkansas can possibly play 8-8-9-9 to a raise, re-raise and three calls and knock out My Master who is holding A-A-2-3 in PLO8 and only playing hands that can scoop both ways.
With the exception of what is now not referred to as "The Gulch incident" because each time I raise the subject I am receipt of such a glowering and withering look that I might be Jeffrey Osborne talking to Barack Obama, this has been the pattern
Except not yesterday. It started normally enough. My Master rose, and put on a dark blue Summer pullover and spent seventeen minutes carefully pressing a Sky Poker, 14/1 for Master to cash in the main event restricted to anyone wanting to put on over a fiver, badge onto the right breast area. Not as simple as you'd think, for this involves careful planning with a spirit level and ruler to ensure it is exactly straight . A contractual obligation apparently.
While he went down to the deserted Media centre, preferring solitude while he worked, I busied myself in the suite with the minutiae of the Manservant's day. Tidying, cleaning, Ironing and blog preparation the staple diet as always. As part of this routine I did what I normally do, throwing back the duvet on the ultra king sized water bed that Master preferred, and again stipulated in his contract.
I did not expect what I saw. In fact so did I not expect what I saw, that I had to sit down. I threw back the duvet, half expecting a handcuff and a smear of Gulch lipstick but no, I found crumbs, a cherry, a long slither of icing and a sultana alongside the picture of Ryan Spittles.
To any manservant, this is heresy. Eating food in bed? This is not the done thing. Eating food in bed without a plate? Sleeping in the detritus of a messy sticky bun?
Nevada I knew corrupted people, but this was simply taking things too far.
I immediately took the lift to the media centre to confront my master.
I stormed to the back row of the empty room, where My Master was busily closing down Firefox tabs as I approached. Alongside him, the tell tale signs of an addiction gone haywire
"Morning Jeeves" he half burped and half cajoled,before taking a massive slurp of a something very frothy and very chocolatey, and he hadn't even been to Gulch yet today
and then let out an enormous belch whilst patting his stomach
"The ideal pre-breakfast snack Jeeves"
Less than two weeks in Vegas and the path to extendable trousers had well and truly begun
I decided to leave him to it and found him later playing PLO8 triple straddle over 65's cash at the Rio
Behind him sat an agitated man in glasses, talking to himself and then to me
"Why the fuck are they asking me about IPoker network problems on facebook? Fucktards. I run a small skin and its not my fault, I've been up 46 hours playing poker, writing Royal Ascot previews and getting unlucky and now they are all messaging me"
I looked at him, and realised without being introduced that I knew who this was
"Cheer up Channing" I said,
and without a further introduction, and with glazed over eyes, he shook my hand and told me
"If you'd like a £2500 poker holiday for cashing 7 from 12 $5 tournaments you're going to want to look at the 12 Days of Summer on Black Belt Poker. To win one of your 12 Boarding Passes you could try the $15 Deepstack Mulligan at 8.30pm."
and sat down and once more started tapping into his Android phone
My Master looked at me. I looked at him. As the man tapped ever more furiously I asked the obvious question, sotto voce, to My Master
"Doesn't he have a Manservant sir?"
tikay shook his head "No planning Jeeves no planning"
The stressed man looked at me, his eyes glazed over again
"Come to moan about fish at your table have you? Bad players getting lucky against you? You should try being me, can't say a word to these guys because of poker ecology and inside it eats me up, and all the while these facebook guys ask me about player refunds on IPoker and...."
I backed away as he got up a head of steam. My Master shook his head and returned to his action, and the man carried on talking.....
I went back upstairs to change Master's bedsheets and as I went to do so the text arrived
"Jeeves, The picture of Thewy on the ceiling, above the bed, next to the Mirror? Replace with picture of Spittles. Find a nice picture. Thanks"....
Easier said than done I thought to myself, but it was all in a day's work
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