High Rollers

Last night we went out to celebrate El Grande Queso's birthday, and lined up an evening of footie, beer and gambling. Unfortunately his missus got wind of our plans, and pulled a flanker. She booked a table at a romantic restaurant for two, and left the shindig Stevie-less. But days had been booked off, and plans made, so myself, Shouty, the boy and Crespo headed off to watch the Bantams take on Barnet. With nothing to play for, the game was was dire, and at half time we decided to make a break for it. Even the die hard Crespo agreed to come along, and we ended up in Booths (the old Yates), to watch the second half of Liverpool versus Arsenal. We were kept amused by a gaggle of pissed up woman in their forties, one kept shouting "Paul" at the top of her voice. On further investigation we discovered she was in fact slurring the word "Pool", as some kind of support for the reds. She also took a shine to the Boy Dazzler, telling him what lovely eyes he had. After the game, Crespo also made a break for home, claiming he had his car with him, and he didn't want to feel rough at work. Shouty put him under an immense amount of pressure to stay out, but he was having non of it. So we were now down to three, and in Lloyds bar, after sinking a few Leffe's, a slurring Dazzler also cried off leaving me and the Shoutster. Off to the Casino we went regardless, and after a few pints and a Swiss and Mushroom burger we hit the tables. I started out playing BlackJack, which was a bit stupid, because I was sitting at a Brag table. I wondered why I got dealt three cards face down. This proved to be a lucky break though, after a quick explanation from the croupier, I quickly built up a winning stash of around £150. For some reason I got fed up with winning, and hit the BalckJack table proper, but still managed to leave the place about £40 to the good. It was now six o'clock, and after walking round a nearby fat rendering plant, which stunk real bad, we found a greasy spoon that was open. We finished a full greasy breakfast, but with it only being quarter past seven, we were faced with the prospect of milling around for a couple of hours until Whetherspoons opened. Stevie Boy checked up on us, and thanked us for having a great birthday for him, but even he couldn't think of a pub open at this time, so we headed for home. In the taxi Shouty fell asleep almost immediately, I stuck a tenner to him, and gave the driver directions to his house and sent him on his way. An excellent evening indeed.