For the last four years or so Tuesday night has been crib night - head to the Sheaf with the dog and meet up with Mike to have a pint or two and a few games of crib. Now to make the game that little bit more exciting we play for money - at 50p to the winner on the night and a further £2 if you win all 5 games these are not the sort of stakes which will necessitate an offshore bank account anytime soon but they still add that little bit of competition to proceedings. Anyway two weeks ago was the first time in the 4 odd years that we have been playing that I had to hand over the whole £2.50 and it hurt - regardless of what I tried it was just not happening - I was suffering from the dogs luck big time.
Fast forward two weeks and the dogs luck was still haunting me with a vengeance - comprehensively beaten in the first 4 games it was not looking good but you live in hope of getting that one game to avoid paying out that extra £2 and more importantly not suffering the humiliation of back to back drubbings. So it is into the fifth game - the one crucial game required to avoid the whitewash and I actually get a good hand - now there is still a long way to go but this is a marked improvement on what has preceeded it! Possibly, just possibly my luck might be changing for the better.
Now it was at this point I looked down and realised that my luck had not changed for the better - it had just got a whole lot worse. The dog - that finest specimen of an Albanian Rat Hound known to man has just finished puking his guts up on the floor of the pub - two huge piles of vomit that bore more than a passing resemblance to a pair of badly cooked sponges. After that I suppose that it goes without saying really that I didn't win the fifth game.
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