But they are rather fun at the time…
Before I attended Blackpool college to study HND Photography in 1984, I started a BA Hons degree course in 1983. Humanities at Preston Polytechnic (now UCLAN). After one year at Preston Poly it became clear to me that the only job I could probably get as a result of my studies was to eventually teach Humanities somewhere as unimportant, to someone else equally unfettered in their career choices. In short, the whole course was a load of bollocks. Although I did learn quite a lot about logical positivism and the Vienna circle.
I transferred to studying photography at Blackpool on the subsequent year.
The Preston Humanities course was taught at the Poulton Le Fylde campus, not even 25 minutes on the train from Blackpool – so I split my time between my previous mates at Poulton and new friends at Blackpool. Consequently, many of my Friday nights for that year were spent at the NUS (National Union of Students) bar at Poulton.
As you might gather from the photo in this post, I was no stranger to copious quantities of alcohol and various recreational substances at the time. Little has changed some 35 years on. I’m just a bit better at the boozing now, but can’t handle the stronger substances anymore. Not that I’d want to. Obviously.
Anyway, another vice in which I indulged from an early age was the gambling card game of Three Card Brag. We had a great little card school going at the NUS bar at Poulton. We had about 10 hardcore members. If we ran out of money we’d even play 5 card (another version we invented) for the free condiments that we’d pick up from the canteen…
It’s too complex to explain here to the uninformed, but Brag is like poker for the less mathematically able. It’s 80% bluff and 20% luck. You hold a hand of just three cards and hope that it’s better than the other several people around the table. We used to play for 50p a hand, so generally most people won or lost around £3 per night- a harmless pastime, however in 1984 three or four quid was a few days’ groceries (or more importantly, a day’s drinking) for most students.
One of the members of our intimate card school was my flatmate Jock, a highly intelligent mature student in his 40s from Easterhouse, with a disturbing history and a deep Glasgow accent. A proper gangster. He never spoke much, but when he did, his wisdom was measured. He had a scar from his right eyebrow to his lip, drank a lot of alcohol in the background and kept his counsel. We became good friends. Never aggressive nor loud, Jock existed in the shadows of life, but later obtained a first in English Literature. In his final dissertation he described Philip Larkin as a ‘miserable c**t’.
The best hand you can get in three card brag, that beats *anything* is three 3’s. It’s known as a ‘prile of threes’. Another aspect of brag is that if you are particularly mad or desperate, you can ‘go blind’. This means that you can choose not to look at your three cards when they’re dealt, you just put your 50p stake on top of the face-down cards, the coin indicating that you haven’t picked them up, then you just gamble away with no idea at all.
One evening, I was sitting across the table from a new bloke, who had turned up from the main Preston campus with a couple mates whom we didn’t know, but we were always happy for new players to join our group.
After a fair few hands, the new bloke decided to ‘go blind’ – he had his cards face down with his 50p atop.
In that round I was dealt an incredibly lucky hand. A 5-6-7 of Hearts. What’s known as a ‘Run on the Bounce’ (run of the same suit) – it’s an incredibly strong hand that will beat anything except a higher RotB – e.g 7-8-9 of Hearts) or a prile. He was blind. The chances of me losing were incredibly slim.
Blind bets demand double stakes from ‘seen’ hands. So every time New Bloke put another 50p on top of his unseen three cards I had to place £1. Very soon all the other players had ‘folded’. But he kept going like some insane robot; every time I put £1 down, he put another 50p. In the end I had no more of those new-fangled pound coins left (in fact no money left at all).
“Well Tom’s got no cash left, so just the both of you turn ‘em over” said one of our number. We both agreed.
Off a blind hand he had three threes. (!) I just lost £16. That was a LOT of money back then. He didn’t even have the decency to buy me a pint from his winnings. I was gutted.
A couple of weeks later, I was nursing a pint in that same bar, on my own, struggling as ever with The Times crossword, when Jock appeared from nowhere. He strode in and casually threw £24 in various coins and notes on the table in front of me. In his gorgeous Glasgow accent he said:
“Taaaam! that bloke who came over from Preston fer they cards, I knew he was feckin’ cheatin’. I wuz watchin’ an’ he took those threes from his poakit. He’d squirrelled ‘em away over the last few hands. I didnae want to cause a fuss in the bar so I caught up with they bass later oan at they train station…”
“Fuckin’ marvellous Jock! Let me get you some beers in.” I replied. “How did you manage to persuade him to pay up? That can’t have been easy…”
“Nae problem. I kicked his fockin’ heed in. Four pints o’ Tenants and a couple a bags ay crisps. Just tay save yer legs pal.”
ciderfreezone 