Poker Face-tonight’s penal reading

“ Have you cleaned out the ashes from the living room grate yet? bellowed his wife Grace from the back scullery.

“ He has always been a lazy so-and so !” said her sister Faith loud enough for him hear.

“ My stroke affected my speech ...not my power to hear !” glowered the hen-pecked husband...besides I am too busy with your sister knocking our bloody door ever five minutes...she may as well live here with us!!!! .

“ I’ll clean it out later...I ‘m off to bingo ..!” he snapped back grabbing his discoloured former NUM official colliers coat from the hall rack and sprinting out of the door of their Council House at 8 Plantation Close Merthyr Tydfil and closing his Garden Gate in one movement.

It was the quickest that ex-miner Tom Bossis-Bowler had moved since he suffered his first stroke in 2007.

Some would argue that his lop-sided face was divine judgement for all those strokes he had pulled in avoiding work since his beloved Taff Merthyr pit closed in 1993 after the ravages of the 1984 ‘Coal not Dole’ Strike .

“Those two fat ladies will be the death of me ...! “ he muttered to himself as he made his way to his second home- the last bastion of the ‘working’ man the Penydarren Social Club.

Founded in 1977 , the building with its flat roof and attached Betting Office acted like a magnet to those seeking refuge from those without the Y Chromosome .

“ Sanctuary!” he declared lowering the collar on his coat as he stepped in through the glass front door of the last great place of safety away from the ‘curse of the nagging wife’.

The club was like a ‘Cheers bar’ for wrinklies.....an elephant’s graveyard for some but the last place in Merthyr which wasn’t 6.00 Euros a pint and the snooker light still cost 10p.

It was to some Heaven but Hell for others...and had a reputation locally as being ‘Gods Waiting Room’

Tonight was Monday night....which meant one thing to Tom... Bingo Night!!!.

Tom Bowler loved his game of chance ...it was his opportunity to take a punt at the National Club prize which linked all working- mans clubs from Blackpool to Cardiff.

He spent twenty four hours a day – 7 days a week- at home with his wife and her sister who lived next door – no wonder his blood pressure was so high and led to his stroke.

This was his only ‘ personal space ‘ time and an opportunity to gamble his meagre incapacity benefit on in the hope of winning a tax free a bingo bonus.

He clutched dearly to his pint of ‘Carling Black label’ as he knew unless he won a prize he would have to nurse it for the next two hours.

“ Dammit ...he cursed as he suddenly realised that he had left his NHS prescription reading glasses on the top of the mantel-piece serving the coal fire in his living room.

In his haste to get away from his hated chore of raking the ashes , he had left in a blind rage , even the knowledge that it was free coal for life from the NCB (given free in exchange for a lung capacity of a 90 year old ) , he still hated his domestic duty..

Looking around the mass produced concert hall tables (originally designed as furniture for the 1970’s TV show the ‘Good Life’...) Tom spotted a spare pair of glasses next to two individuals who had suddenly appeared in the hall and were not part of the usual bingo crowd.

The glasses had one white lens and one red lens and looked like a prop used in an Elton John tribute concert booked by celebrity PSC Agent Vic ‘Reeves’ Thomas.

However, beggars could not be choosers.

As he sidled up to the table the strangers were being surrounded by two committee men intent on evicting the two for the ‘sin’ of not being able to produce their membership cards.

“ I don’t care if you know the Pope...I’m a friend of the PPPPPope too!” argued Committee man Les Miserable.

“ The rule is simple ...pal...no cards...no play...I don’t care what your name is...or who your boss is.... everybody here is treated equally!!!!!” declared Ronnie Snuff.

As Tom slipped the spare glasses into his pocket under cover of the distraction, he heard the two strangers making threats that there would be ‘Hell to pay’ and that Ronnie would soon see them both again on ‘Judgement- Day’.

Such threats were regular occurrences and just part of the dangerous life- threatening work of a PSC committee-man.

Happy that his plan had worked Tom used his new glasses to select bingo tickets for the evening and was on the return to his seat surprised to see that the bingo books bore red diagonal lines on them as if marked previously.

He took off the glasses and the lines disappeared.

They reappeared when the glasses were put back on.

He nearly took the book back until he discovered the ‘ devil red’ coloured ticket had all 15 numbers marked off in red diagonals.

“ I must have picked up a Committee man’s book by mistake!” laughed Tom

He sat nervously watching the first house to see if by some fluke the red numbers would in fact come out of the bingo machine.

The elderly couple of Bet and Ivor Wingnut sat next to him were seasoned bingo veterans who had played every Bingo house in the Country.

Or as her husband had put it from Blackpool to Brighton ..... she’s a Bingo wizard.....in every amusement hall.

Bet had already won two houses that evening and had turned to Tom when she was ‘sweating’ on one number and said... ‘How do you make 30 grannies say ‘Bastard’ ?.

As she called the words ‘House’ on lucky 7 he knew what she meant.

The hall was filled with more swear words than a Tourette’s convention.

‘Your good at this ....!” proffered Tom ...in the hope of a free pint.

Chance was a fine thing....but he didn’t get one.

‘Where you from...?” he asked the two pensioners in the session break.

‘ Near Swansea’ offered the former Train driver...this is my wife Bet ....named after the Roman God of gambling....I’m Ivor the engineer...and I get free rail passage all around the Country...

‘ Your wife ...she’s good at bingo ...she’s not on the committee is she?’ asked Tom.

‘Funnily enough ...no...but she often gets asked that question...in fact she gets very nervous when she only wants one number ...she is known locally as ‘Sweaty Betty from Kilgetty’

Looking at her brow....100% concentration and 20% perspiration...Tom could see how she acquired the name.

Her flatulence problem also added to her nerves ... little wonder Tom was the only one in sitting the same row as Bet & Ivor.

A combination of Luck , Sweat and Brown tears had effectively banned ‘Sweaty Betty ‘ from all known Bingo Halls in South Wales.

Tom however , seemed unconcerned with Bet’s lucky or brown streaks.

He was delighted to note that in the first house that Bet had won- although he only had five numbers crossed off they were all red diagonals.

As the bingo book played out its chapters he squealed with delight at the prospect of a potential full house on his card.

He hoped and prayed hard that this would be the ‘National’ ticket.

His prayers were heard by some unseen force as diminutive Bingo caller ‘Eric ‘HMV’ Jones decided to announce that the next book was that of the ‘National ‘’

Tom ensured that his new glasses marked Prada ‘Trinity’ were in place and stared around the room nervously hoping that no one would rumble his proposed ‘cheating’.

He felt like Welshman Ray Milland- the man with X- Ray eyes as the social outcast hoped to change his luck and image in his designer glasses.

He did however catch a glance of the two recently ejected strangers through the window who seemed to be hovering around next to Coral’s bookies.

The glasses revealed the biggest ‘bingo’ wings he had ever seen at the club.

Eric the bingo caller began his nasal numerical assault.

‘Ready Pals...eyes down for a full house...National Time....and your first number ‘Same both ways 69’.....the sound of sloshing drowned out the noise of the hall as it fell silent.......as Nipper Eric eyed up the bar maids he announced....’two fat ladies 88’...Tom’s card began to fill up almost simultaneously with the card belonging to Bet.

They both wanted one number each to win.

Tom waited on ‘Kelly’s Eye’ the number 1.

Bet wanted legs eleven .

As Nipper looked down at the next ball something strange came over him and to break his monotony of calling the same calls for the past thirty years,..... suddenly announced his own individual ....made up call....’On its own.... Heather Mills leg....the number 1’

Bet , in a fit of nerves , heard the word ‘leg’ and called ‘House’...just as she let go of the loudest fart ever emitted by man or beast...causing the pint of Yidris Solomon in the Lounge bar to shatter ‘Ella Fitzgerald’ style.

Tom jumped up too but in the commotion his protests were ignored as his winning national bingo ticket was torn from his grasp by ‘Hurricane Bet’.

Tom like he had been .... two years ago sat speechless as he saw the jackpot floating away from him on a nerve fuelled up current.

One minute he had a golden ticket....the next he was extremely browned off..

His body had been blunted but his mind still sharp as decided to put Plan B in action as he headed for Corals Bookies through the side door in a bid to catch the late night racing.

Taking off his glasses and placing them in his jacket pocket, he looked around for the two strangers ...who had mysteriously vanished.

As he entered the bookies he could make out the usual assortment of characters.... Horse racing specialist ‘Doug Trenchtown’ and his father Dennis Thatcher staring hard at long lists of cuttings from the Racing Post... Mike Ampere...the electrician with blackened fingers using the free blue minipen to clear out his ears...Lord Aberdare ‘Morris’ Cheval’ier was inviting everyone to share on his ‘certainty’.

Tom just looked at the newspaper lists and selected his greyhounds.

Putting on his glasses he marked his selections for the late night races.

‘Pinocchio ....8.30pm at White City to Win ...33/1 outsider -£50.00 on the nose.’ said Tom pulling his life savings from his wallet.

He was interrupted by the sound of the radio announcing the result of the 8.30pm White City race.

“ The winner by a long nose is Pinocchio....”

“At 33/1 board price....£50.00....£1,650.00 !” he danced like a cured leper.

As the sullen-looking bookie reached into his posing pouch he withdraw a bundle of sweaty ‘ monkey’ notes...making him less interesting to his female assistant.

“ Ah the sweet smell of success !” said Tom sniffing the bundle deeply.

Tom’s joy was short lived as the front door of Coral was pushed open violently by a stocking –clad criminal.

“ Nobody move....this a raid!” declared Ned ‘Kellie’ Kelly.

“ I don’t keep any cash here!” declared Bookie Stewartz N. Quiry nervously.

Looking down at the £1,650.00 in used notes that had just been paid out to Tom the raider snatched the money out of the hand of the hapless ex-miner.

He pistol-whipped Tom in the face in the bargain.

“ Aren’t you supposed to wear those stockings over your face?” asked Morris politely

“ So what if I’m a transvestite robber....that’s discrimination...you’ll be telling me next that there is a law against burgling turds! .

“ All of you.....empty your pockets!” demanded the raider wielding his blood-stained Colt handgun in the air.

‘Have a Go Hero’ Morris decided enough was enough.

“ You can take my flakes but you can’t take our freedom !” declared the brave hearted former Ice Cream man throwing his pocket contents at Ned Kellie’s face blinding him for an instant.

For a brief moment, Mr Whippy fought Mr Pistol-Whippy but the years of defending his ‘Penydre’ High School pitch meant the more- experienced Lord Aberdare came out on top.

The robber retreated covered in chopped nuts and hundreds and thousands.

The raider fled with his tail between his legs and exactly £1,650.00 in cash...five ounces of red leb, five ‘winning’ betting slips, three IOU’s , a packet of 1 amp fuses covered in snooker chalk and a box of Cadburys 99 Flakes for his efforts.

Lord Aberdare was the hero of Penydarren declaring that Ned Kelly was giving ‘Highwaymen’ a bad name....and was determined to stop the transvestite crook making a ‘clean getaway’.

Tom came around rubbing his face and started arguing with the bookie.

“ You still owe me my bet...I didn’t pick it up...!” he said.

“ Tom...interrupted the bookie....what’s happened to your face?”

Tom realised that the sudden blow from the weapon had corrected his facial deformity and had put right the damage caused by his stroke.

“ It’s a miracle....!” declared Tom putting back on the glasses and hearing strange ‘Harp-like music’ ‘Oh and give me a shot at the Irish Lottery’. asked Tom while I’m here!”

The glasses seemed to be have been damaged by the impact.

He adjusted the frame and suddenly noticed a switch with an ‘Up and Down Arrows’

He replaced the glasses and carefully deliberated about what numbers to choose ...this time with the down facing arrow .

He thought about his day.... knock at the door ....number 4 ........garden gate number 8........ Bet’s Legs 11.... 33/1 bet .... Kelly’s eye 1.....Cowboy’s (or Robber’s) friend....45...........were they an ‘omen’

Sure enough the six numbers showed in glowing red.

He parted with the emergency £1.00 he kept in his ‘Jap’s eye’ for such purposes.

He had been taught not to trust the Merthyr Colliery lockers....today that knowledge would pay off.

The Abba song the ‘Winner takes it all’ played loudly in his head as he headed for home.

As he opened the front door he knew from the silence that something was wrong.

Sat in the back kitchen was his Brother-in Law , Sidney Reilly and the two strangers evicted from the Club earlier.

“ What are you doing here?” asked Tom to his relation.

“It’s Monday night .....cards night....we always play poker remember....!” suggested.....Reilly

“ Who are these two?” asked Tom nervously.

“ Their my new friends Nick and Gabby.....our usual pals Jack Maull and Idris the Milk...couldn’t make it.....they have come to make up the numbers.”

Tom eyed the two suspiciously but refrained from putting on his new glasses in case they were recognised.

“Where ‘s the wife?” asked Tom anxiously.

“ Having a nap ...next door in the living room....!” came the reply.

Tom got up and went into the room....the coal fire had been swept....and Grace sat in her armchair exhausted from her exertions....he began to ‘ poke her’ face hoping that she was dead from carbon monoxide poisoning from his dodgy flue.

Sadly for him he had to put the insurance policies back in the drawer because she grunted but still remained asleep.

He flicked on the teletext to check on the Irish Lottery results.

He doubly checked his entry ticket...to be sure...to be sure.

1, 4, 8 , 11, 33 & 45.

They were all there.

He checked that his video wasn’t on .......as his wife had April Fooled him once by taping the previous weeks National Lottery results and put on the same numbers...he had wanted to kill her then especially after he had to get ‘Steve’s domestics’ to repair the smashed up video he had thrown in air.

Talk about ‘Steve’s domestics’...it was ‘Tom’s domestics’ because of the evil old cow.

No...it was genuine...he had won 3.4 million Euros!

‘Pack your bags girl...I’ve won the Lottery ‘ he said kicking her hard in the swollen ankles.

‘ Pack our bags ...why ...where we going?” she asked excitedly.

‘ No...pack YOUR bags.... your leaving tonight!”

“ You can’t do that ...it’s my name on the rent card!” she retorted for the 100th time.

He slammed the door and returned to his card game .

As he received his two card draw he thought ‘Not bad’ ...he held a pair of sixes.

He reached for his reserve fund in his chocolate biscuit tin..... £100.00 hidden away from prying DSS and spousal eyes.

He could not resist temptation and placed the ‘borrowed glasses’ on his brow.

‘£100.00 all in’ he declared to the other players sliding them down non-chalently.

Tom could see with his X- Ray specs that his brother- in- law only held a Black King and a Red 5.....he could not though try as he might see through the hand of the other strangers.

From out of the shadows Tom could see that both Nick and Gabriel had their own set of glasses on.

Tom’s head was filled with confusion but also the telepathic thoughts of his opponents.

‘The Devil wears Prada.... whilst I wear the Trinity ..... ‘ said Gabriel without moving his lips.

As the centre cards were turned over Tom was overjoyed.... in the ‘Dead Pool’ were two black aces and another six....

Three sixes....666 .... Tom thought hardly able to contain his glee but sat unmoving with an impassive countenance.

Fighting hard to contain the movement in his once paralysed muscles he held on to his stony façade.

The other players seemed oblivious to Tom’s good fortune.

Tom and the others betted freely producing notes until the table groaned under the weight of the money.

Tom suddenly noticed that Gabriel’s bingo wings had returned and that Nick had small contusions on his forehead and was eating biscuits from Tom’s Tin using his pitchfork tail to pick them up.

“ Would you like to increase the bet....?” asked Old Nick

“ I’ve nothing else to bet!” announced Tom

“ What about your Soul?” asked Old Nick.

“ Thatcher took that when she closed the Pit....and Scargill took my life savings and sequestrated my assets in 1984/1985 with his ‘illegal strike’” Tom replied

Tom revealed his hand first......666...a devilishly good hand.

Nick turned over his cards and revealed four aces...but unfortunately they were all black .

“ Look Reilly.... Aces of Spades!” declared Tom ...Four of them....this Devil here is a cheat!”

“ Shut it Poker face....!” shouted Grace the Hellcat as he turned just in the ‘Nick’ of time to receive the metal rod full in the nose .

The stolen glasses flew through the air magically returning to their owner.

As Tom collapsed dead to the floor ‘ falling from Grace’ Old Nick turned to Gabriel and said.

“‘Poker face... now I get it! .....for an arch-angel Gabriel ...you don’t half have a sick sense of humour !”