Service: * *
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Food: * * *
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Ambience: * *
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Babe Count: * * * *<\/i> <\/p>\n
Gillian is my opponent tonight. We settle down before my open backgammon board. She gets down to the serious matter of the accuracy of my reporting. <\/p>\n
“I checked your website for an update, and you haven’t mentioned anything since you beat Renee. And, I’ve read every word, and I don’t see any mention of myself. What’s going on?” <\/p>\n
“I promise I’ll feature you in my next update,” I say. <\/p>\n
“And what about your matches since Renee?” <\/p>\n
Gillian’s wearing gorgeous red lipstick, and a polo neck sweater. She’s almost certainly dressed for war tonight. She’s trying to distract me by displaying her delightful curves. But I will not buckle. I will play well tonight. And I will certainly win. <\/p>\n
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll put the results on my site too.” <\/p>\n
So here they are: <\/p>\n
Alistair 21–Roy 20. <\/p>\n
Andreas 21–Roy 20. <\/p>\n
My supper arrives. It’s the special… a croissant with scrambled eggs and bacon. I didn’t notice that the menu mentioned mushrooms, so I have to send it back. My waiter is Leo. He’s been my waiter every time we’ve played here, and every time, I’ve asked him to be CERTAIN there are no mushrooms involved in anything I eat. He’s gotten it wrong twice. Tonight, when I forget about the mushrooms, he forgets about my preference. Hence, back to the kitchen. <\/p>\n
It comes back, and they’ve either cunningly removed all traces of mushroom and spat on the eggs, or they’ve cooked a whole new dish for me. Either way, it tastes good. <\/p>\n
Gillian and I start playing. <\/p>\n
“So why haven’t I featured on the site?” says Gillian. <\/p>\n
“Well,” I say, dicing appallingly. With backgammon, it’s always possible to explain away any loss by mentioning how poorly the dice were behaving on the night. “I didn’t want to appall you by mentioning that incident with the cat.” <\/p>\n
“Hmmm,” she says, and smiles like a cat, hefting her tightly-clad bosom while shaking her dice cup. <\/p>\n
I say, “How can I tell people that I tried that line on you? I was destined to failure. And anyway, it was a tragic night.” <\/p>\n
Gillian and I sort of attempted to date about a year ago. On my way to meeting her for our first and only date, I was driving along the old Kyalami Road. There was quite a lot of low mist. I was doing about 100km\/h in my slinky li’l red sportscar when I noticed a darting movement on the side of the road. Skidding, my brakes and wheels squealing, smoke pouring from the tyres. <\/p>\n
Next thing, WHAM!!! and a cat goes bouncing off the front of my car. So I stop, and see if the cat’s dead. But it seems to have taken off into the night. <\/p>\n
I drive on. Get to the pub I’m meeting Gillian at — something to do with Geordie’s Arms, I think — and speak the words destined to prevent me from EVER scoring with her or any of her friends. <\/p>\n
Instead of saying, “Hi, Gillian, you look divine,” I go for the impossible punch line. The one that no man should ever say. I say, “You know, Gillian, I came here tonight hoping to get a bit of pussy. And I did. I just ran over a cat.” <\/p>\n
Which might explain why she’s dicing so well. And why she beats me 21–19 by the end of the night. Damned cat. <\/p>\n