I took a virgin to Scotland

The Berkley casino in Glasgow held their second festival last week and I wanted to go and play the £250 and the £500 main event. Both tournaments were freeze-out ranking events and I really fancied them, my only concern was that the £250 was billed as a 20-minute clock. For a ranking event with a £250 buy in, that was too fast, imo.

The staff at the Berkley, including tournament director Colin Reid and general manager Linda Barby are the most pleasant and helpful people you could wish to meet. So I rang Colin, who I had got to know quite well the last time I played there and he said, depending on the size of the field, he was quite willing to do a longer clock if that was what the players wanted. That was good enough for me

I have to confess, there was one other issue that troubled me. The Berkley does not have wheelchair access, as Ironside so rightly says, it’s unfair to allow a ranking event to take place in a venue that is off limits to the disabled

I didn’t fancy sitting down to play a tournament after driving all the way to Glasgow so, perhaps somewhat influenced by a senior blondite’s senile blathering, I decided to travel by train. After a short hop on the local service from Hinckley to Birmingham New Street, I boarded a sleek Virgin. (Sorry for the terminology, but at my age that’s a statement you don’t get to make too often)

It was packed to the gunnels, not a seat to be had, but that was fair enough, I could have reserved one. I didn’t mind too much, I found a nice space in the vestibule between the first and second class carriages where I could stand and admire the view or sit on the floor with my dog eared copy of Harrington on Hold Em

I was just getting into the weighty subject of fourth street continuation betting when I noticed an old man moving slowly down the corridor towards me, aided by his wife and two walking sticks. Upon reaching the vestibule he stopped and leaned against the wall, I looked him over from my position on the floor.

I estimated his age to be somewhere in the mid eighties. He was very smartly dressed in dark jacket, Tattersall check shirt, olive green tie and cavalry twill trousers. In his buttonhole was a poppy and below that a medal ribbon. He was obviously in some distress and his wife fussed around him; I stood up and asked him if there was anything I could do. His wife explained that their had been some sort of problem with their original train and so they had been moved on to this one (Hence the crowding I suppose) she told me they were now unable to find a seat and that she was worried because the old man wasn’t very good on his legs

Looking through the window into the first class compartment, I could see that there were lots of vacant seats, I tried to persuade the old couple to go and sit in there but my efforts were in vain, they were part of the ‘put up and shut up’ generation, and they wouldn’t dream of breaking the rules. Thankfully, the ticket inspector arrived and I explained the situation and asked permission for the old couple to sit in first class, she must have had a heart of stone because all she could say was “Sorry, it’s not allowed” I took her name, told her that if the old man fell over he could issue a law suit against Virgin and that I would be the star witness, she walked away, unmoved

I was determined to find a seats for them so I walked down the carriages asking if anyone was prepared to give up their seat for an old soldier, I was amazed at how many people suddenly became deaf and turned away to look out of the window, by the time I got to the third carriage I was fizzing. “For Gods sake” I said loudly “most of you are wearing poppies, what do you think they are, fashion accessories?”

“There’s a seat here,” said a young man of about seventeen, I thanked him profusely and asked him to wait while I brought the old man. He shuffled along the isle, wife in tow, and sank into the vacated seat, I stared at the woman sitting next to him until she too got to her feet and let the couple sit together

I returned to my vestibule to find the young man sitting on the floor, we began to talk and he was great company. Lost in conversation, the rest of the journey seemed to fly by. Before I knew it, we were rolling in to Glasgow central

I left the train and sat on a bench to get my coat from my bag, as I stood up I saw the old woman again, helping her husband down onto the platform. At that moment the young man who had vacated his seat passed by, the old soldier stood erect, smiled and raised his hand to his temple in an informal salute

I swallowed a huge lump in my throat and walked on, suddenly very happy

The poker was actually very enjoyable, except for the small number of entrants, 49 for the £250 and 28 for the £500. True to his word the TD extended the clock for the £250 to 30 minutes, the blind structure was excellent and there was plenty of room to play. I was very pleased with my game and although I didn’t make the money in either event I think I made only one mistake, with 13 players left in the £250 I re raised what I knew to be a 2k steal on my big blind all in for 10k more holding 66, thinking he would have to have a monster to call. He didn’t have a monster but called anyway for all his chips with A6, the A came first card and I was damaged beyond repair

In the £500 with 11 players left I got them all in pre flop with 10 10 v Burnley John’s AK, he won the race and that was that. It was nice to spend some time with Burnley, I don’t know him very well but we got on like old friends. He helped me out last week at Sheffield when I left my lights on and flattened my car battery; he’s a great player and, somewhere deep inside, a true gent

My journey home was a complete contrast. The weather was gorgeous; the train half empty, and the ticket inspector (A Chinese Yorkshire man) went out of his way to help me. It seems I had got on to the wrong train, apparently I was supposed to go home via Preston and not Leeds

“Tha’s ont wrong train youth” he informed me, “A’hm spost t charge thee extra”
With that he took my ticket and wrote on it something to the effect that I had been given the wrong information at Glasgow, “Ere, tha’ll ave no trouble now, pillock!” he said, face inscrutable save for a conspirital wink

We were a few miles out of Leeds and I was staring idly out of the window when I saw a place I recognised immediately, although it must be 35 years since I’d last seen it, we were crossing a bridge and below was a place where we had stopped (Parked our caravans) for a few weeks when I was a boy

I remembered it so vividly because my brother Tracy and I had used that very railway bridge to play ‘Russian roulette’ it worked like this. We tied a length of rope to the railway track and the other end to a lorry tyre. The tyre was then suspended over the side of the bridge and allowed to swing about 6 feet from the ground and we would take turns to sit in it, 10 minutes each until a train came by and cut the unlucky one down, amid howls of laughter from the escapee, I suffered this fate what I considered to be more than my fair share of times and I came up with a plan for revenge

I balanced a plank of wood across an old Calor gas bottle to form a see saw and convinced my brother Tracy to stand on one end while I dropped the lorry tyre on the other end from the bridge, he agreed to this willingly, he was always as brave as a lion but a bit gullible, I have almost killed him several times over the years

Tracy positioned himself on the plank, grinning up at me expectantly; I was about to drop the tyre when I had a sudden and unusual rush of common sense. How high would he go? I wondered. Just to be on the safe side, I asked him to get off and put a brick on instead, this he did and I let the tyre go

The brick, one of those really heavy blue engineering jobbies shot into the air much faster than I thought it would, and because I was leaning over the bridge to watch, it was heading straight for my face. I pulled my head back quickly and the brick flew right on up, as I followed its trajectory I fell over backwards like a penguin watching a jet going overhead

Suddenly the brick that I was watching getting smaller was getting bigger again and I realised too late that it was going to land on me. I put my hands over my head, which wasn’t much help because the brick landed squarely in my crotch

It was an explosion of pain, I lay there, curled into a pathetic little ball, moaning and vomiting, Tracy laughed so hard he was curled up and vomiting too

I was unable to walk for about three days, when I did manage it I was so bow legged I couldn’t stop a pig in an entry. The swelling was magnificent, in fact the only good thing is, it never really went away