Issa funny ole game, is bridge, said Jimmy Greaves. Whereas in fact, it’s a game of immense skill and cunning and geniusness. And a bit’a luck. Just a bit. Not enough that when I win I can’t run round the table performing ‘goal celebrations’, breaching all protocols of propriety, gentlemanliness and decorum, but enough that fate has to provide you with good cards. Without which, however fucking clever you might be, there are limits to what you can achieve.

And, like number 7 buses, you wait all week for a good hand and then three come round at the same time. Which was precisely my experience the other night.

We normally play 8 hands. Because you can’t let a few playing cards get in the way of a good cake. Or fruit. Biscuits. All three. And normally, I reckon I’ll get a couple of ‘decent’ hands at most. And if on one of those ‘partner’ gets a decent hand too, then that’s the normal bridge experience. Conforming to statistical probability. But I had 4 amazing hands. And on all those hands, partner had a near perfect ‘fit’. Something else that rarely happens.

I won’t bore you with the details because if you don’t know bridge it’s meaningless and boring, and if you do, you’d doubtlessly have done much better, and then I’ll hate you, but it was wonderful. And now I’ll have to wait another 7 months for the stars to align with Jupiter and Sagittarius to disappear up its own trouser leg.

Meanwhile, back on planet football, all is not so wonderful. Arsenal sit at the top of the table, Liverpool are flying, Manchester City have (thankfully) lost the plot and Spurs and Aston Villa are on the ascendant. Aston Villa? Yes, the team which, for those old enough to remember, were biiiiiiig back in part of the 70s, winning the ‘old’ European Cup and being generally… big, have risen under the fantastic stewardship of Unai Emery, the Arsenal reject manager, to be currently ‘presuming’ on the title chase. I’m not sure teams from Birmingham are allowed to harbour such aspirations, but teams from Leicester aren’t either and look what happened there. The Christmas program normally sorts things out a bit; 14 games in 4 days, that kind’a thing. And on Saturday I’m going to White Hart Lane to watch my boys (I simply can’t do gels football: I keep trying but… but…) play Everton. Who, since being cruelly and horribly docked 10 points by the league for wilfully and persistently NOT being Manchester City, have won every game they’ve played. We can only hope that ends NOW!

Happy Thursday

A xxxx