Whilst following the expolits of my Local 'Ace of Clubs' (and the 'PuntersLounge') Team at the APAT Team Championships Manchester, I logged on this morning to check on chip counts when I came across this post from the 'APAT Commentator, and Thread Updated -"Tight End".(Affectionately known as "Tighty")
I had to leave my hotel room by 11am, and I just managed to do this despite waking up at 10.30am and thinking it was 6am such was the demands I placed on my weary body yesterday.
I had missed breakfast. Timed to conclude at 10am on a Sunday morning, the establishment clearly was not used to catering for people, such as myself, for whom before 10am on a Sunday is anathema.
I was thus faced with a dilemna. Hungry, which to be fair is not an unusual state, and with time to kill I headed for the Salford McDonalds. I am not proud of this, but my hankering for ready fare overcame any sensibilities of healthy eating.
I arrived at McDonalds, and negotiated my way into the drive through. At the first window I was met by the silhouetted figure of the server, behind a mesh grill and specially reinforced perspex. Royal Windsor and Eton, this is clearly not
I placed my order, repeating three times because the young lady could not understand my dulcet tones, and gingerly handed over my £10 note, except that my hand got stuck in the small area to pass such money, such is the protection afforded to staff in this area.
Extricating myself from my car, one handed, I yanked at my trapped hand whilst a manager came out to observe the commotion. Behind me a couple in a Ford Capri, with no fewer than four children huddled in the back, were it seemed to me trying hard not to titter. Behind them a gentleman in a Kit car was blaring out Urban music from what appeared to be bountiful speakers.
My hand was still trapped, and the manager re-emerged and poured some washing up liquid over my hand and told me to wiggle. A strange request I thought, until I realised he meant my hand
A few minutes later my hand was free. My face was bright red from both embarrassment and exertion.
I moved onto Window three. My gast was flabbered when the male youth behind the next grill and eprspex said "Your order will be two minutes, please park in Bay 2"
"Hold on my good man" I said "I have been stuck at Window One for 7 minutes 30 seconds"
"I need to park in Bay 2?"
He said something to me which may well have been a foreign language such was the strength of his accent, but a point towards Bay 2 and a grunt later, I parked up and waited
A knock on my window followed. Not a word, merely a grunt and a hand thrusting a bag of food in front of my face. I accepted the proferred food, and settled down. The mixture of Radio 4 and McDonalds offered a bewitching cultural menage, but soon I was sated. By Radio 4, not the food.
I moved onto the casino, where within a minute of settling down I was offered my first bad beat story of the day.
My hand is still hurting. My pride is hurting more, and next time I am in Manchester I intend to make it to Hotel breakfast.