Thursday
The last forty-eight hours have been a blur. The man never stops! It is quite refreshing to see one so aged with such vitality and energy. As long, as he reminded me, I am two steps behind him for those inevitable moments when he falls asleep on the spot, often mid-sentence then I dare to suggest that this might be a manservant-master match made in heaven. Or at least the Mandalay Bay.
Mr tikay is a man of simple tastes. His room on the 36th floor at the Rio is Spartan, and only requires a modicum of tidying with my portable Dyson, which I purchased from the "Sofa King Emporium for bona-fide Welsh Cypriot Goods" behind the Wynn only two days ago.
In the past day we ventured out to the airport to collect arriving
Sky Poker (expert analysis for fish by fish) players and I had to have a gentle word (via a discreet ear piece placed in Mr tikay's ear, as I am not allowed to travel in the same limosine as the boss ) on the journey back to remind him to go easy on the descriptions of freight trains, half built complexes and the like. As it was two of the players were fast asleep by the time they arrived at the hotel, and had to be prodded awake with a quick blast of the Dyson, which I carry around with me at Mr tikay's insistence.
That apart, a lot of time is spent moving from poker room to poker room where Mr tikay catches up with old friends. I am introduced to them all, and most seem rather intrigued by me. I admit I strike an incongruous presence, adorned in bow tie and tails but Mr tikay insists
"Jeeves, open toed sandals are forbidden, you must dress smartly. Especially when hiding the salad from my view on the all you can eat buffet. Yuk!"
Amongst those I met tonight were a Mr
John Duthie of London, accompanied by Farqhuar his faithful man. Mr
Paul Parker of Brighton, accompanied by his faithful glass of red wine. Mr
Ash Hussain of Bolton, accompanied by his extended family. Mr
Greg Raymer of the Eastern Seaboard, accompanied by autograph hunters and "nippers" and Mr Norman Pace of surburbia accompanied by Mrs Pace and Master Pace. A Hale and hearty family indeed.
Mr tikay has time and a digital camera snap for them all, though I am under covert instructions, send by telegram from a Mr Dave of Compton Street, to remove all photographs of girders, steel and brickwork
the telegram was quite simple really
"Building Pictures stink. Stop. Get rid. Stop. Tell him I ordered it and if it doesn't stop I go to the papers with the bondage story. Stop. I know the editor of the Racing Post you know. Stop. Send. Stop. Now over to the 8.53 at Churchill Downs. Stop. How do stop sen......"
After this social whirlygig was complete I had to take Mr tikay to one side. I had to stress to him that I was not an accoutrement to be shown off for his pleasure and that I was there to serve, not be seen as a social oddity. There was no need for him to show off. He may have come from humble beginnings and thus be enjoying immensely his new found fame and status, but to hear
"Top-hole Jeeves, toodle pip" as Mr tikay departed for the latest tea-time competition and
"Jeeves my good man, bring me a tea two sugars would you, lickety spit"
both in front of his associates from
Sky Poker (expert analysis by fish for fish) the fragant Ms Taylor and the Rock Chick Ms Crowe stuck in my throat a little I must say
It was thus most encouraging as we returned to the 36th floor at the Rio that he turned to me. As he turned to me I saw the tiredness in his eyes. Once out of the public limelight the crackle and the sparkle departs and is replaced by a world-weariness and a very evident sense of being perplexed at how a boy from such humble beginnings had ended up here, a poker superstar where people actually listen to him. No one had ever listened to him beyond a sentence or two before.
"Jeeves" he said "tomorrow we go to the barber's"
"I need my hair doing, new hair dye son. It's Vegas, it's the bright lights. I must sparkle, I must be a presence for my people, for
Sky Poker (expert analysis for fish by fish) and for England. I am the face of British Poker, England is mine and it owes me a living"
and gently humming to himself, whilst muttering about how to take good skyline photgraphs at night, he retired to his messages, his forum and his public.
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