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Author Topic: BEST OF RED  (Read 23833 times)
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« Reply #15 on: November 30, 2005, 01:11:56 AM »

Live Update From The Sofa

Hi guys, for those of you that cant be here on my sofa, I thought Id try to share the experience with you

I arrived quite late this morning after dropping my wife and daughter off at east midlands airport at 5 am, (little break in Spain with her sisters) I didnt get out of bed until 11.30.

Then I had to do for myself all the things Mrs RED_DOG usually does for me. NO, not that, I mean making beds, finding clean clothes etc

So, after a delayed start, I had a quick shower, no shave, (no one to tell me off) I started my 20ft journey from the bathroom to the living room, it was a lovely morning so I decided to walk. This journey turned out to be more difficult than you might think. I narrowly missed tripping over one of my daughters trainers and had to stop by the fridge to recover. This was a mistake. My wife, no doubt worrying that I would fade away during her absence, had stocked it with enough food to sustain a small village over a bank holiday, and because I dont like to eat on an empty stomach, I decided Id better have whatever you call the meal between breakfast and elevenses.

After my stew and malteasers, I continued on my way and had almost made my destination when the telly hove into view, I flicked it on. Half an hour later I knew how to worm a pig, but I was getting hungry again.

Finally I arrived. My laptop blinked at me excitedly, and within five minutes I was jamming pots with the best of them. Ive been playing multis for 12 hours straight and after a couple of early exits and a near miss, Ive managed to make a final table and I am the grand total of $420 to the good

Isnt life wonderful

June 21st 2005
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« Reply #16 on: November 30, 2005, 01:17:59 AM »

It's A Funny Old Game

My absolute favorite bad call excuse was at my old stomping ground Annabelles in coventry

I was deep into the competition. Well, I say deep, they only make three tables, four if the valet and the car park security man play, but everyone re buys like mad and so the last dozen or so players tend to have big stacks and the game can go on a bit

So, we finally get down to eleven, bubble time. I was comfortable, with average chips when, in middle position I find Ako in the box. I put in a healthy raise and get one caller, an old bloke with a long suffering face, and a set of those false teeth that try to continue the conversation after their owner has stopped speaking.

The flop came K94 rainbow, I raise and again he calls. Now Im wondering if hes hit a set or is slow playing aces or some other skulduggery, I know nothing about his game, Ive never seen him before and have just moved on to his table

The turn card is the A. Im not altogether sure Im ahead but decide, this is it. Im all in I say, pushing my chips to the centre of the table, Call he says, and beats me into the pot. He turns his cards face up, J4

Of course the river card is a 4 and Im on my way, but before I go I have to ask, How can you call me?  I just want to get home he says, through teeth moving out of sync, like a badly dubbed movie, And let me dog out before it craps in the kitchen

June 21st 2005
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« Reply #17 on: November 30, 2005, 01:22:41 AM »

Cryptological Sponsered Official Tournament

I love loud music, but only when I want it, I hate it when its forced upon me. Have you noticed, there are speakers in most toilets now so that you dont miss the latest offering while your having a crap

I have an outdoor type waistcoat with lots of pockets and my dad wanted one. So I told him I would get him one for his birthday

When I went into the store where I bought mine the music was so loud that the assistant couldnt hear what I was saying. On top of that, the waistcoat was 5 dearer than last time. I told them where they could stick their waistcoat, but they couldnt hear me. I stormed out

Once outside I thought, my dad really wants one of these waistcoats, Ill have to swallow my pride and go back in

When I got back inside there was no music. Wow I thought. A little complaining goes a long way. Ok I said, now that you have come to your senses, Ill take that waist coat No one moved or spoke to me, so I repeated myself but this time shouting and doing a decent impression of Basil Fawlty. Slowly one of the staff made his way over to me and whispered, Would you mind keeping your voice down sir, its armistice day, we are observing two minutes silence..

June 23th 2005
« Last Edit: November 30, 2005, 01:25:23 AM by snoopy1239 » Logged
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« Reply #18 on: November 30, 2005, 01:32:09 AM »

Poker And The Mrs?

Got to be honest here guys, Mrs RED-DOG and I will have been married 28 years come October the 1st. In all those years she has done nothing but encourage me, what ever hare brained scheme Ive come up with.

She is always supportive and makes me feel like I am the greatest guy on earth. We have had hard times, both emotionally and financially, but she has been my rock, my friend and my councillor. I dont know where she gets the strength.

Spending money doesnt interest her, I will pay 500 to enter a competition and at the same time she will walk across town to buy a tin of beans 1p cheaper

She is always happy and smiling and will go out of her way to help anyone. If I ever did anything right in this life, it was marrying her

In the words of an old sentimental song.

Lord give her my share of heaven

If Ive earned any here in this life

Because God, I believe she deserves it

My woman, my woman, my wife

Modesty aside, (easy for me)

June 23rd 2005
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« Reply #19 on: November 30, 2005, 01:36:57 AM »

Profiles of Blondeites

The Sir Nigel Gresley, I spent endless hours watching an old man making a scale model of this train. When I wanted to escape the wife and kids for a little while, I would go and sit in his workshop next to a pot bellied stove, holding this, passing him that, and listening to him talk

When I say model, I mean he made a real steam train about one 8th the size of the original, every part crafted from the raw matal by hand. He estimated it would take him 5 years to finish it, his ambition was to complete it before he died

He did, It was beautiful, and he used it to pull childeren up and down a home made track

He told me that he would leave it to a museum, that he was relieved to have finished it, he said it was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders

The next I heard.........he had started work on the Mallard

August 5th 2005
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« Reply #20 on: November 30, 2005, 01:44:29 AM »

A Chink Of Light

Yesterday I made a profit from playing poker, it was the first time in five weeks. Although my winnings only amounted to a few hundred dollars, I was relieved to make a breakthrough

Five weeks without a draw of any kind is a big deal for me considering the fact that I play for ten or so hours a day, which costs me roughly $2000 per week in buy ins. That’s a $10,000 hole in my bank roll, plus living expenses

If I were playing live games only I wouldn’t consider five weeks a long time to go without making a profit, but factor in online play and it starts to get scary. In that space of time I have played more than eighty MTT’s, thirty STT’s and made six live appearances. That’s a lot of poker!

It’s been really tough maintaining my focus, the “take a break and come back refreshed” method doesn’t suit me, if anything, when things are going badly I tend to play more

as time goes on though, you do tend to lose confidence in your game, so you try to change things, either by playing much tighter or looser than usual, this phenomenon, when you finally recognise it, is the dreaded tilt

Tilt isn’t constant, most of the time you play a great game and you lose because you got unlucky or went card dead or something. During my barren five weeks I lost a lot of games when I know I played well, but in the cold light of day I know I also lost a lot of games because I played really badly, just one or two decent cashes would have made so much difference, I have only myself to blame

Yesterday it snowed. Not a lot, just an inch or so, then it froze really hard and the wind got up. I went out for a walk and I was soon blue with cold. Normally I would be out working in these conditions, instead of sitting at home in front of the fire playing poker on my laptop, if I wanted to continue living the “easy” life, I had to make it happen. Poker doesn’t owe me a thing. It was a sobering thought, I went home and played a winning session

To be successful at poker you have to do more than play the game well, you have to learn about yourself. Learn to control your emotions and reactions. The less you let good or bad runs affect you, the better your game will be overall

When I was a young man my dad gave me a framed copy of Kiplings “IF” It seems to contain advice for every situation

“If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same”

I feel like Rudyard and the last five weeks may have taught me something useful

November 29th 2005
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« Reply #21 on: November 30, 2005, 01:47:10 AM »

Hills Are Big In Cardiff

I was surprised and delighted to receive an invitation from Phil Quayle to go to Cardiff to watch one of the heats for the William Hill Grand Prix being filmed. I was really excited, not only were there some fantastic heats, but it was filmed in the same studios as the benchmark TV series, ‘Late Night Poker’ the spiritual home of TV poker

I arranged to travel down with Ralph, (karabiner) who had also been invited, it was impossible to decide which would be the best heat to watch, they were all so good, in the end we decided to go on Wednesday and just before noon Ralph arrived to pick me up. He was driving a beautiful red 3.2 litre Honda Coupe that belonged to his late father; it really was a great car, comfortable, powerful and whisper quiet, it swept us off towards the valleys

We had a good trip, for once the roads were clear, the weather good (except for a brief and unexpected squall), it only lasted two minutes but a lot of cars were forced to stop, so much water fell that it was impossible to see, it didn’t faze Ralph one bit, he just switched to navigating by sense of smell and we continued our journey. If you ever catch Ralph in a talkative mood, shut up and listen. He has lived a fascinating life and tells wonderful stories one after the other, he’s great company and wickedly funny. Before I knew it, we were there

Phil Quayle (may his braces never dangle) had put us up at the Hilton no less, and Ralph and I, pretending to be nonchalant while elbowing each other like schoolboys, strolled in, tossed the car keys to the valet and signed the register. To our amazement, we had not one, but two huge double rooms with massive en suite bathrooms and all the five star creature comforts. After a quick ‘power shower’ we made a phone call to Phil and a limo was despatched to take us to the venue, I was being looked after in the manner to which I have…n’t become accustomed

The TV studio was in an industrial unit on an estate, it looked the same as all the other units except there was one of those big outside broadcast vans in the car park, but as soon as you opened the door, you could tell it was TV land. For a start the doors were about two feet thick, (soundproof I guess) and there were no windows, busy looking people flitted about carrying cables, tripods, microphones, cameras and clipboards

We were greeted like long lost sons by Mr Quayle (may his pipes never empty) and shown into the ‘Green Room’ here, lounging, chatting, laughing and working were an eclectic mixture of the great and the good. World-class poker players, big hitters from William Hills, ‘A’ list writers, commentators, and possibly the best production team ever assembled

I tried very hard not to appear star struck, but it’s not easy when the likes of Jessie May, Andy Black, Vicky Coren or Ian Bradley come over to have a chat, It’s very strange when people that you are used to seeing on the telly bring you a coffee or ask you for your opinion

I must say a quick word about Jessie May, I always saw him as a bit too loud and a bit too American, if you know what I mean, well I’m unashamedly doing a 180, he is one of the nicest, funniest and most talented blokes it has ever been my pleasure to meet. He entertained us all day, slipping effortlessly in and out of commentator mode, running a book on the heat and constantly shouting out ever changing odds, committing bets to memory, cracking jokes and playing some kind of word game with Vicky Coren on a scrap of paper, all this while wearing a McEnrow style headband that made his hair stand completely vertical, and a pair of white Gucci shoes that were very pointed and at least six sizes too big

Someone had mentioned to Phil Quayle (may his loft be fungus free) that I am very interested in the ‘nuts and bolts’ side of TV, so he made sure I saw all the stuff the viewers don’t get to see, he took me on to the set and it was amazing, the TV table was in the middle of a room on a slightly raised platform, there was a backdrop that represented city lights and there was about forty five tons of cameras and lights suspended from the ceiling on scaffolding, when you see it on the screen it looks totally different, but fantastic

I was also allowed to sit in on a few interviews, first up was Lucy Rocach, she must be an interviewers dream, he asked a question, she gave an informative, witty, comprehensive answer, first time, every time. Next up was Phil, ‘The Unabomber’ Laak, in contrast to Lucy, his interview was, shall we say “different”

Phil Laak is positioned on sofa; interviewer (sorry, forgot his name, the bloke that accompanies Rhow everywhere) sits on a coffee table and faces him

Q, “How did you get your Nickname?”

A, “I just realised this today, when you play poker and the cameras can see your hole cards, that means that this image is filling the room in the form if electricity, now there is a theory that this information can be transmitted to others if they can tune in to the magnetic energy…. blather waffle jabber”

A full 10 minutes pass, he doesn’t stop to draw breath, no one understands a word of what he is saying, the interviewer’s smile is now a tortured mask, the onlookers are doing a fantastic job of stifling laughter, I am biting my tongue, on the verge of hysterics, The Unabomber goes on..

“Is the spoon really there, if it isn’t, why not become the spoon? The spoon knows all…. blather waffle jabber…..”

Another 10 minutes of complete nonsense, the interviewer now has stubble on his chin, his eyes have a haunted look, silently beseeching us to help him, I lean toward Phil Quayle (may his rash spread no further) and whisper “bloody hell, he only asked how he got his nickname” Mr Quayle loses control and dashes into a corridor, meanwhile, Bomber continues..

“It is possible, I believe, to make use of things we know nothing about, the spoon is the thing to be, who among us has the power to be the spoon…blather waffle jabber…”

By now, at least in my imagination, the long dead interviewer has become a skeleton, I have no idea how I am keeping a straight face, Ralph, sotto voice says “put the clock on him” For me this is the last straw, it totally cracks me up, I too dash into the corridor to find half a dozen people rolling about on the floor, silently crying with laughter.

How did the interview end, no idea, I dare not go back, and for all I know it may be still going on

When we had recovered from the Laak monologue enough to be able to walk upright, we were taken to see what goes on in the outside broadcast vehicle, loads of technical wizardry and stuff, huge multi screen monitors (we could see the players hole cards) computers with attendant geeks inputting data and displaying win percentages for the viewers, Lucy and Jessie adding commentary, I could have stayed all day but someone shouted “Lunch is served”

It was a close run thing, Antonio Esfandiari’s actress girlfriend was standing in the kitchen, plate in hand when the call came, so I had to step lively to be first in the queue

The caterers had provided a wonderful spread, three different main courses, a magnificent salad bar (if you like that sort of thing) and loads of chocolate covered, cream laden, mega calorie desserts, the American actress lady, who was behind me as I made my selections (everything) had obviously been forewarned by some wag about British cuisine because I overheard her asking “does that contain pigs blood? well what about this, does this have pigs blood in it?” I bumped into her again after the meal and asked her politely, “How did you like the pigs blood gravy?” she covered her mouth with her hand and left the room before I could tell her I was joking

The poker resumed after the lunch break and the game was really hotting up as the blinds started to bite, I won’t talk about the result, save to say that we all sat riveted to the monitor until the final hand, the exact time of which was predicted, to the second, by Ralph when we arrived. It was a terrific game, not surprising considering the quality of the players involved, I can’t wait to see it on telly so that I can see the hole cards, that will defiantly be an education

Several limo’s were summoned and we repaired to the Hilton en masse, on the way there we came to a roundabout that had a ‘modern art’ sculpture in the middle of it composed of dozens of different road signs, “Bloody hell” someone said, “I bet that confuses foreign drivers” Ralph, in his deadpan way replied, “I bet Phil Laak could understand it”

We congregated in one of several bars at the Hilton and Phil Quayle (may his sheets be absorbent) started a tab and told everyone to help themselves to anything they wanted, I expected such a genteel crowd to be a little shy so I took a step forward, inadvertently putting myself between the ugly mob and the alcohol, I was almost killed in the stampede. I’m not much of a drinker, but one or two others made up for my shortcomings and seemed determined to make some sort of dent in William Hill's expense account, Willie wasn’t at all bothered it seems, and to prove it he provided us with a sumptuous dinner

Someone suggested we round off the day by playing a £20 re buy, we were well fed and well lubricated, it sounded like a capital idea

We were loud, unruly and to the layman, must have looked somewhat threatening but we were provided with a waiter and deck of cards and ushered into a conference room complete with the biggest table I have ever seen, it was like a meeting of the United Nations, the only difference being we were talking more sense

What a line up!

We had, amongst others,

Jessie May, sporting his pineapple hair do and enormous white shoes

Victoria Coren, wearing a Britney Spears ‘Hit me baby one more time’ outfit


Jessie’s almost comatose mate Sam ‘

‘Smokin’ Steve Ladar

Mrs ‘Bad Girl’ Ladar

The guy who did the Phil Laak Interview, still looking a bit shell shocked

Ian ‘At It’ Bradley

Phil Quayle (may his loins be ever fruitful)


‘At it’ nominated himself as tournament director, dealer and bouncer, he announced loudly (He does everything loudly) “Ok guys, one re buy, one top up, lets go” and we were off

The game had a surreal, dream like quality, for one thing the proceedings were being filmed, and the sound and camera men were running around and around the huge table to zoom in on the players hole cards and record the verbal's, the players themselves seemed to do and say the same things every hand, it went something like this

Me “Check”

Jessie “Is there a jack on the flop?” (He said this even when there was no flop, but we cut him some slack because he was the worse for drink and anyway the flop was at least 15 yards away from him) “Ok, I call” at this point someone always asked him to explain how the dealer button (a milk jug) worked, and every single time he would drop effortlessly into commentator mode, a la Late Night Poker and recite the familiar formula, then he would lean towards me, show me the two ‘wrong end’ blank corners of his cards and announce “I always look at my cards like this, Hell, I could have anything!”

Vicky Coren would either pass or lean right out across the table to see the flop, treating ‘At It’ to the full frontal view and me to the rear view, twice this ploy caused us to bet into her monster hand

‘Smokin’ Steve would raise

‘At It’ would do the worst acting job ever seen before re raising or passing

‘Bad Girl’ would ask, “Did he ra?” “I go or in!”

Comatose Sam would wake up and say “Bring me another drink, I call”

And so it went on, until Comatose Sam knocked me out at about 3am. Never have I enjoyed losing my money so much, it was a pleasure and a privilege, a magical end to an unbelievable day

Are William Hills serious about poker? Yes, I think they are!

October 24th 2005
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« Reply #22 on: November 30, 2005, 01:50:17 AM »

Odd Socks? So You Think You've Got Problems?

I used to buy damaged and broken Land rover gearboxes and sell them on to a reconditioning firm. You could buy them at a considerable discount if you were prepared to remove them yourself, so I spent quite a lot of time in scrap yards or on farms, lying under Land rovers covered in grease and old sump oil

Removing a Land rover gearbox is a horrible job, especially when you have to do it outdoors in the winter, working with no ramp and as often as not, having to lie in a puddle or a patch of nettles. The underside of a Land rover is always coated with many years worth of mud and cow shit and once you have chipped your way through this you expose hundreds of rusted nuts and bolts, all put in places designed to make it near impossible to get a spanner on them, you have to be a cross between Einstein and Quasimodo, when you did get the spanner on, it would slip off again when under full pressure, My hands looked like they belonged to a kamikaze mousetrap tester

One particular day I was removing a gearbox but Olaf the Uncomfortable, the spirit that inhabits all Land rovers, just didn’t want me to have it, the vehicle had no wheels, so I had to jack it up to get underneath and major accident damage had wrapped the chassis around the gearbox like a greedy child’s hand around the one toffee he can’t cram into his mouth

The rain was coming down in sheets and little rivulets ran down my collar, along my back and out through my trouser leg as I lay on my back beneath the Land rover, I was cold, wet and miserable, my hands were bleeding and I had bumped my head so many times it looked like a shillelagh, when suddenly I started to feel little jabs of sharp pain all over my body, especially the nether regions, I lifted my shirt and saw to my horror that I was covered with ants

Within 0.5 of a second, I was running around the scrap yard doing a fantastic impression of Michael Flatly’s river dance and flinging my clothes in all directions, I didn’t stop until I was completely naked and had slapped every ant from my body

Sanity returned, and with it the realisation that perhaps I might look a bit silly, standing in the middle of a muddy scrap yard in the rain, without a stitch on, covered in oil, and sporting cuts, bruises and hundreds of rapidly swelling red spots, I looked around anxiously and was relieved to find I had the place to myself, then I noticed the grim, world weary face of an old security guard peering at me from the grubby window of a wooden hut, he showed no emotion, save for slowly shaking his head from side to side

Quickly I started to gather my clothes. Disaster! During my panic driven striptease I had flung my trousers into a large galvanised container obviously used as a receptacle for old sump oil and as I stared at them aghast they slipped beneath the surface of the black glutinous mess

What could I do? I fished my trousers out and after squeezing as much oil from them as possible I put them on. Fortunately I had almost finished removing the gearbox and was soon ready to go

On the way home I stopped to buy some cigarettes, and I happened to notice a posh little gentlemen’s outfitters with a ‘Sale now on’ sign in the window, I didn’t fancy the 60 mile drive home in oil sodden trousers, so I popped inside

The sales assistant, a ‘Mr Humphreys type character, listened with wide eyes and open mouth as I recounted my tale of woe and asked him for a pair of his cheapest trousers, 34 waist. “We have these, £5.99” he said, wrinkling his nose and guiding me away from the merchandise to a sheet of newspaper that he had placed in the middle of the floor, and he offered me a pair of white, yes white corduroys.
“Can I put them on now?” I asked, he agreed but refused to let me use the changing room and instead stood by the window holding his coat open as a screen
“Do you have any scissors?” I enquired, noticing that the trouser legs extended past my feet and several yards along the carpet, he loaned me his scissors and I cut off the trouser legs

I observed my handiwork in a long mirror, Mr Humphreys looked on from behind, the white trousers were now a sea of black fingerprints and while one leg was still a little long, the other terminated just below my knee. I hummed and ahhed, did a couple of twirls, sighed and hands on hips declared, “Naaa, I don’t think I’ll Bother”

October 8th 2005
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« Reply #23 on: November 30, 2005, 01:52:31 AM »

I've Got The Blues

I play poker online for many hours most days, it can be a grind but this forum keeps me sane, its somewhere to go and have a chat with my mates, it informs me and entertains me

Blonde is growing at a phenomenal rate, but that growth comes at a price, no longer are we the close knit little hamlet we once were, we are becoming a city

Cities have many advantages, they have a great diversity of inhabitants with many and varied talents, they can provide access to more facilities and the powers that be have to take more notice when the people of a city unite for a common cause

The downside is, cities need more policing, especially if we want to maintain the same values we enjoyed when we were a sleepy hamlet

We all see tikay as the founder member of  Blondepoker, I know it is a collaboration between him and Dave El Blondie Colclough, but tikay was the public face, the citizens advice, the press agent, the diplomat and the local bobby, but as the forum has grown bigger, superstardom has tapped him on the shoulder and the time he has available has grown shorter, the upshot was, he asked a few of us to become moderators

I am now a moderator; I have some fancy blue stars and a posh title

I am willing to do whatever I can to help out but I have to confess, I don’t like it, this has been the first day on blonde that I haven’t enjoyed

Being a moderator hasn’t improved my IQ, I am no taller, stronger, holier or wiser than I was before, I just feel a greater responsibility to try to do the right thing, although most of the time I know that will be impossible, as don’t know what the right thing is, it’s a case of dammed if you do, and dammed if you don’t

What I’m really trying to say is, when the moderators get it wrong, please try to cut us some slack, if we do the wrong thing, it is for the right reasons

I owe Blonde and it’s members a debt of gratitude, you have been there for me when I needed someone and I wouldn’t upset any one of you for all the blue stars and fancy titles in the world

October 6th 2005
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« Reply #24 on: November 30, 2005, 02:03:00 AM »

Notts Faces

I went to Notts gala last night, for the £300. It?s a nice distance for me, takes about 45 minutes, which is just about right for me to get into the right frame of mind, If I travel on my own I usually play music very loud and arrive filled with emotion dictated by my choice of entertainment, last night it was The Offspring, (recently discovered while testing daughters ipod) played at about 1000 decibels, by the time I got there I was so pumped up I felt like I could bite a tiger. The trip was only slightly marred by the hundreds of speed cameras that line the route, not that I'm a speed freak, its just that the bloody things don?t play fair, they are designed to get you, I?ve been flashed twice in the last fortnight, once coming home from Birmingham, 2:30 am, not a soul in sight, doing 34 in a 30 zone, and once coming back from Luton, on a dual carriageway, I knew the cameras were there, the speed limit was 40, 40, 40, 30, (for about ten yards) 40, 40,??. guess which bit got me.

Right, back to Notts, I wont talk about the poker, (I didn?t play a very prominent part in the proceedings) except to say that I thought it was a great event, well organised, well run, and played in a great spirit. I don?t get to Notts often enough, I always enjoy it. I even enjoy the things that should annoy me, Example

Valet, (Margaret?) ?Would you like a drink sir??

Me, ?yes, Coke please?

V, ?Water??

Me, ?no, Coke?

V, ?Water??

Me, ?No thank you, I?d like a Coke?

V, ?We don?t have any Coke?

Me, ?Ok, I?ll have orange?

V, ?Water??

Me, ?Yes, I?ll have a glass of water please?

V,? We have tea??..

Then During the 30-minute break

Me, ?Where?s the buffet??

?There is no Buffet?

Me, ?Ok, where can I eat??

?Go and ask in the bar?

Me, to barman, ?Can I get something to eat??

Barman, ?you have to go into the restaurant?

Me, to waitress in restaurant, ?Can I order please? I only have 30 minutes?

Waitress, ?It will take 45 minutes?

Me, ?I can?t wait that long, what shall I do??

Waitress, ?Ask the valet in the card room to bring you something?

Me, to valet in card room ? Can you get me something to eat??

Valet, ?It will take 45 minutes?

Me, ?that?s Ok?

Valet, ?What would you like??

Me, ?Can I see a menu??

Valet, ?You want a menu??

Me, ?Well, just tell me what you?ve got?

Valet, ?I?ll get you a menu?

Me, after reading menu and finding valet again, ?I?ll have the steak wrap and chips?

Valet, ?That will be £7?

Me, paying, ?Thank you?

Valet, ?What?s your membership number??

Me, ?I don?t know?

Valet, ?Sorry, I can?t serve you?

Enter Mr Costa, don?t know which one, but he looked pretty young and charismatic to me, ?He can use my membership number?

Valet, ?Ok, just this once?

Me, ?Thank you?

Valet, ?would you like a drink with that sir??

Me, ?Yes please, I?ll have a Co?. No Thanks?

It was really great to meet some of the ever-growing army of blondites; It?s strange to meet old friends for the first time.

Among other notables were

Karrabiner, Who I would have never recognised In 1000 years if I had to rely on tikay?s description, contrary to vicious rumours he is young, suave and very intelligent and well spoken

Bookiebasher, I have been on his table several times before at various venues but I didn?t know he was him, I had his card marked as a good solid player, I have now added ?Nice bloke?

M Power, Typical BMW dealer, laid back, bright, confident, too much money

Malc M, On the scrounge as usual

Julian, Wearing his smiling, chatting, innocent, butter wouldn?t melt disguise, when all the while he?s thinking ? what are you plebs doing here? You know I?m going to win it ?

Junior, (I?m still trying to find something disagreeable about him)

Tikay, Who is obviously on drugs, the man doesn?t sleep, and he rambles on about trains, cats, and rock concerts

Redsimon, Yes, it?s true, he?s a troublemaker and a delinquent

Nick, Reminds me of me 5 years ago

Rob Yong, Young, handsome, talented, wealthy, (bas**rd)

Unknown blondite, don?t know his real name, but he was a dead ringer for Chesney Hawkes

And loads of others

Oh, I did meet Chili Pepper, and I can confirm, he is definitely a man

I busted out early and took a leisurely drive home, everyone was sleeping, including my married daughters and my grand children, who are visiting, they looked like angels, I sat alone in the dark and a great wave of contentment washed over me, I have my problems just like everyone else, but I am surrounded by a loving family and wonderful friends, I?m a very happy man

August 29th 2005
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« Reply #25 on: November 30, 2005, 02:05:01 AM »

That Reminds Me

I swear this is true

The ?Great laydowns? thread reminded me of it

A good friend of mine who, for reasons that will become obvious, must remain nameless, is a fantastic gambler, he will bet on absolutly anything, I have seen him race against a horse and an Escort van (on foot) he has had beard growing contests, pie eating competitions, weight loss, staying awake, fart lighting, greasy pig catching, you name it, he has bet on it. I don't mean a few quid, I mean thousands.

Once though, he met his match, he couldn't beat this guy, they played pool, he lost, they threw coins up to a line, he lost, backgammon, lost, connect 4, lost.

Right, he said to me, time for the secret weapon, I had no Idea what he had in mind, I thought I had seen all his tricks

"Ok" he says to this guy, "I bet you £1000 that I have a smaller co*k than you" (This was in a pub with dozens of onlookers) Quick as a flash, the guy replies, "Your'e on"

Off we all troop to the gents toilet, the landlord thought we had gone mad, about 40 people squeezed into the bogs, and several others were standing on beer barrels outside trying to look through the windows

A small space was organised  in the middle of the room, mainly by shoving people into cubicles and urinals, and the two protaganists faced each other, and amid gasps and oooh's form the audiance, my friend dropped his pants and exposed the tiniest appendage imaginable

It was almost invisible to the naked eye, like a miniature button mushroom that had been left out in the sun, the other guy looked at it for a moment and then proclamed, "You've lost"

And he had, the proof was produced

The look on my friends face was an absolute picture, people were screaming with laughter, some wanted to take photographs

To this day it is still refered to as 'The contest you don't want to win'

August 30th 2005
« Last Edit: November 30, 2005, 02:07:16 AM by snoopy1239 » Logged
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« Reply #26 on: November 30, 2005, 02:08:27 AM »

Red's Roots

I was surprised to learn that Tony likes the Fairground boxer and hard men stories, I am a Romany Gypsy (yes, I still live in a caravan) and I know a lot of these guys in person

Because I am a Gypsy I have met with a lot of prejudice in my life, mainly because people are suspicious of what they don't understand, I decided that the best way to combat this was let people ask me about the Gypsy way of life and answer as best I can, I give talks to police forces all over the country and in reality all I do is let them ask me questions, so if anyone wants to know something, please ask

Mrs Red and I were invited to the Queens garden party a little while ago, the group that I work with won the Queens Jubilee award for services to the community, I think we were the first Gypsies ever to walk through those gates, I was very proud

Life is very difficult for Gypsies at the moment, the Sun newspaper is running a hate campaign and there are a lot of people who are not really Gypsies who have taken to caravans, some of these groups cause a lot of trouble and we have to carry the can. This is not to say that we are all angels, we have bad people amongst us just like any other community

I haven't mentioned this before because I wanted you to know me as a person first and a Gypsy second

I am very proud of my heritage and my ancestry, my forbears have been imprisoned, transported, and even executed for the crime of being a Gypsy; it is a testimony to their courage and love that I am here at all

September 1st 2005
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« Reply #27 on: November 30, 2005, 02:18:55 AM »

RED-DOG On Shootouts...

Its funny you should say that, I'm not connected to the main sewer, all my toilet waste goes into a septic tank.

It works like this, a large fibreglass container, shaped like a decanter and capable of holding 2000 gallons or so is buried beneath the ground and all toilet waste, liquid and solid, is piped into it. The solids sink to the bottom, and the liquid runs off through underground filters, this system works without maintenance until after about two years, the solid waste reaches the top of the tank, you know when this has occurred because suddenly, things start to get very smelly, I found myself in this situation last week

The remedy is simple, just pick up the phone and call Peggy Shitter, AKA Lang Wet Waste. I dont know who christened him Peggy Shitter, but that was the name given to me to me by a friend who scribbled a telephone number on a scrap of paper, the first time I called him I said to the lady who answered the phone, "Hello, is Mr Shitter there?"

By now we were old hands at tank emptying, this would be out third visit from Albert, as we now know him, (although he does answer to Peggy) and we waited patiently, noses wrinkled, for the sound of his tanker coming down the lane, bang on time as always, he arrived

Peggys vehicle is built on the same lines as a milk or petrol tanker, but there the similarity ends, the huge tank is festooned with valves and pipes, I think it was blue once, but any remaining paintwork is now invisible under many years worth of indescribable filth.

Albert himself is also covered in many years worth of filth, he must be immune to every disease known to man, Mrs Red makes him a cup of tea (she always smashes the cup afterwards) and he sits on the step, opens his sandwiches, and eats them with unwashed hands that are covered with brown stains, although he does stop to shake off the odd bit of used toilet paper

Breakfast over, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, passes the cup back to Mrs Red, (who holds it at arms length like an unexploded bomb) walks over to the septic tank and lifts the lid. I dont know why, but all the family, including me, have a morbid fascination with the contents of that tank, and my daughters, Mrs Red and I all stood around in a semi circle, craning our necks and trying to look inside, at once both mesmerised and horrified. Meanwhile Peggy strolls back to his truck and begins to unroll a long flexible hose, like a firemans hose but thicker and semi rigid, connects one end to a big valve on his truck and then works the other end deep into the shyou know what, then he starts his engine, opens the valve, and the hose starts to empty the tank like a kid with a straw emptys chocolate milk shake

All was going according to plan, and as we cast furtive glances into the tank, Peggy regaled us with tales of days gone by, when this job was done by brave men who actually climbed into the tank and shovelled the stuff out, night soil they called it, and it was transported by horse and cart to local fields where it was spread on the crops

Suddenly Peggys history lesson was interrupted when the note of the engine changed, and the hose started to squirm about like a constipated snake, Blockage cried Peggy, and he quickly turned the big valve to the off position. What now? I asked, intrigued by this new turn of events, Ill soon sort it Peggy replied, and with that he pulled the hose from the heaving brown mass and holding it about an inch from his face, peered into it. Cant see anything he told me, Ill have to get my rootler His rootler turned out to be a long stainless steel rod with a sort of corkscrew attachment on one end, and he pushed it carefully into the hose, probing gently. About four feet in, the rootler came into contact with something solid, Aha exclaimed Peggy, there it is. Peggy spent the next twenty minutes poking, teasing, ramming and swearing at the blockage, but it wouldnt budge, Right he cried, flinging the end of the hose back in to the tank and squaring his scrawny shoulders, Well blow the bugger out he moved a lever on the back of the truck, and when he opened the valve again it was set to blow instead of suck

With hindsight, this was the point in the proceedings when the family McCready should have left Mr Shitter to do his job in peace, but it was far to interesting for that and, hands holding noses and eyes narrowed to slits, we shuffled ever closed to the action. The hose had now become a live thing, it rumbled and hissed and as the pressure inside it built up it writhed and arched its back as though in great pain. Hmm mused Peggy, thoughtfully stroking his chin with his germ-laden fingers, This is a toughie, Ill just rev her up a bit with that he went back to the truck and opened the throttle

What happened next will be imprinted in my mind in glorious, frame-by-frame, graphic Technicolor detail forever. The hose seemed to swell to twice its size and instead of lying on the ground, it rose up in a series of arches like the Loch Ness monster, then, with a bang like a cannon going off, the blockage came free and shot out into the septic tank with the force of a small meteorite, followed by about 90,000 pounds of evil smelling compressed air. you can imagine, the resulting splash back was spectacular, I wasnt around when Vesuvius blew her top, but I now have a good idea what it looked like. Everyone was liberally coated with two years worth of night soil and soggy bog paper, we looked like we had been tarred and feathered

Mrs Red was the first to laugh, but soon we were all rolling about on the floor, even Peggy Shitter had to smile. The cause of the blockage turned out to be a cricket ball, how that got in there we will never know, Ive eaten some strange things in my time, but I draw the line at sports equipment

So that was the biggest crapshoot Im ever likely to see, and my advice is,

August 12th 2005
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« Reply #28 on: November 30, 2005, 11:39:21 AM »

How Tight Were Our Parents?

We were so poor our dog had no legs

During the winter we all used to sit around a candle, if it was really cold we used to light  it

We couldn't afford shoes, my mam used to black our feet and lace our toes up

We didn't have a porshe, our front door was right on the street

October 28th 2005
« Last Edit: November 30, 2005, 11:43:04 AM by snoopy1239 » Logged
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« Reply #29 on: December 01, 2005, 05:38:34 PM »

O/T: If You Could...

This is the first of my five, I’m doing them one at a time, it’s too much thinking to do them all at once

I may not be able to stop at five, and there is no order of merit

My little Granddad

My dad’s parents were both quite petite, so we kids we called them our little Granny and Granddad. My mam’s parents were our big Granny and Granddad

My little Granddad ‘Sam’ was one of the most selfless men I have ever known. He never had much money, he didn’t drive, he hardly ever spoke and he was totally illiterate, my Granny used to say, “He can’t tell an A from a bulls foot” but he taught us so many things.

He seemed to thrive on hard work, he was always busy, but he always had time for us. A brilliant carpenter, he would spend hours making us wooden toys or kennels for our dogs, he taught me to make wooden flowers and clothes pegs (Before you can make pegs you have to make a special ‘peg knife’) so he taught me that too

On Sundays he would take us boys for a walk in the countryside, a real walk, 15 miles or so, we used to take a packed lunch. He would always be pointing out things that we didn’t see, bird nests, squirrels, tadpoles etc. Sometimes we would come upon a lake or a river, Granddad would produce some line, make some rods and we would spend the day fishing

The only time I ever saw him inactive was when there was wrestling or a cowboy film on the telly, then he would sit in his caravan, riveted to a tiny black and white portable TV with a 10 inch screen, this was powered by a slim cable connected to a battery outside. God help you if you ran past and “Pulled his wires off” Eventually he bought a portable colour telly. A rare thing in those days and his only extravagance

He died just after I got married. as is often the way I only realised how much I loved him after he had gone, I never told him

He left me his pocket watch, some woodworking tools, a million memories, and his colour telly

This is him on the frontboard of his waggon, the child is my father

Dec 1st 2005
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