My second two to three day jaunt of the week was to Biarritz. Before today I wasn't exactly sure where Biarritz was, but now I know cos I have come here. I'm not going to tell you where it is. It is a well-kept secret which is good as it will keep riff-raff like you away.
I was with a different friend (yes, I have two friends, unlike any of you internet idiots - actually, I've just remembered I have more than two friends. I have nearly four friends. So Cheg on! That's infinity times more friends than you've got. And I don't count as your friend. I hate you and all you stand for)who had been drawn to this coastal town by a cheap flight offer and who thought I might like to join him because Biarritz also has a casino. He was right.
I had been so worried about the casino's dress code (I had rung up the night before, but spoken to a women who couldn't speak much English and hadn't made myself understood and then exchanged some slightly confusing emails which seemed to suggest we would need to dress smartly) that I'd brought a suit and my lucky comedy shoes, but hadn't thought to bring shorts or beach shoes of any kind. Which was an oversight as Biarritz is by the sea (who'd have known? And I'm not telling you which sea either. I can't be tricked that easily). In fact the bay is dominated by an actual, factual working lighthouse. Had I known I would, of course, have insisted on living in it. But we were already booked into the "Hotel Florida" (this may be a clue to the location of Biarritz, but may be a red herring).
It's a charming town with a small airport only ten minutes drive from its centre and as we walked along the sea front in the sunshine(a little overdressed) we both agreed that we had been fortuitous to end up here. Plus there were lots of ladies on the beach with no tops on, which was mainly great, though occasionally disturbing. Once I would have been shy and looked away blushing, but I am older and wiser now and if a lady wants to give me a look at her bosoms for free, then I am going to take that offer to its very limits. I was hoping that this dress code might also apply in the casino.
It turned out that nudity was not tolerated in the Biarritz casino, but the suits we had both brought were a little over the top. Even in the evening things were a little warm for a jacket and we both looked as if we were on our way to a funeral as we headed for the gambling complex (and I suppose in a way we were - at least some of our money would be being unceremoniously buried down that little shoot on the roulette table). It turned out that the rest of the clientelle were fairly casually attired, one man even had jeans on, and most of the other people were twice our age. We must have cut imposing figures, but we were not going to be surrounded by impressed and topless young ladies if we won.
It was nonetheless a rather classy and sophisticated building and so much nicer than the brashy ones in Las Vegas, or the rather seedy and tragic ones I've been to in London.
I always play 17 and my age on the roulette wheel. I spent the whole night under the illusion that I was 36 and bemoaning the fact that I would shortly have to change my system as the wheel ends at 36. It is only now as I write this that I remember that I am actually already 37 and so that horrible moment has already arrived. And that's quite interesting because 36 didn't come up for me all night long. To the amazement of my companion 17 came up on the very first spin of the wheel, and then again 3 spins later. I was already around 350 euros up. It looked like being a good night. But my bountious good fortune soon atrophied and I ended our first session 140 euros to the good, thanks only to a stupid 70 euro bet on blackjack which happened to work for me.
We decided that as it was early we would go elsewhere for a drink and return later.
Predictably things did not go so well on our second session and I ended the evening with a deficit of 20 euros, which is still not a disaster. My friend won 130 euros so we beat the system like a two modern day Robin Hoods anyway.
I was drawn to gamble my final 20 euros by the arrival of the only other people in the room under 60, two attractive women who looked like they were of local origin (phew, nearly gave the country away then). Maybe if they saw me winning loads of money and being cool and dressed in a suit they would both fall in love with me and either marry me or failing that lez up for my entertainment.
My brilliant plan did not seem to be working, because even fortified with beer I was too shy to talk to them. Then as the wheel spun I came up with a brilliant plan. Employing the local language (the name of which I must keep a secret) I turned to her and said, "Quelle age as tu?" (that may not be how you spell it, but that's how I said it. only the most educated of you will understand what it means). She immediately replied "vingt trois) and I casually tossed a chip on to that number, whilst feeling slightly awkward by what I believed was a 13 year age gap (and which was in fact 14 years).
She had a long way to go before she fell off the end of the board - which is about as good a euphemism for becoming middle-aged as I think you'll ever find. If only like roulette we went back to zero once 36 was over.
This could have been the ultimate pick-up line. If the 23 had come in I could have bought some celebratory champagne (I mean sparkling wine of whatever country I was in) and told her that fate had decreed that we should be together, and if fate didn't have a problem with the age gap then who we were to argue (all this assuming that she would speak English. I had already discovered I couldn't even say "Do I have to wear a tie?" in her native tongue, so was unlikely to be able to riff about metaphysics). Doubtless we would end up married or with the lezzing up scenario that I've mentioned. I couldn't hope for both, though to be honest if I meet someone who's up for the latter I will probably propose to them (and any of their friends) quite quickly.
The wheel came to a halt. It's number was chosen. My whole life could be about to change. It had landed in 1.
"One!" I cried. "One?" I added increduously. I turned to the girl and said, "Why couldn't you have been one?" She smiled as if she understood what I was saying, but didn't laugh that much and it was a funny joke (as long as we take the unspoken marriage and lesbian elements out of the equation). I saw that this young lady with the deep brown eyes was not the one for me after all. Fate had chosen wisely. And expressed its disgust at the age gap by choosing the whole integer which was as far away as possible from the number I had selected.
You can't be lucky at cards and in love.
And tonight proved that I can be lucky at neither.
But it's a ploy that would work one in 37 occasions on average.
Then again, why waste your money in the casino when there are all those women on the beach giving it away for nothing.
I love France.
Damn.
