Squealer Magazine - The Hangover Edition

SQUEALER

MAGAZINE

THE

ISSUE 5 / JANUARY 2014

KOH SAMUI’S DEFINITIVE TOILET READ

THE HANGOVER EDITION – JANUARY 2014

TRAVELTONIC – KOH SAMUI

SQUEALER magazine

editors drivel Is it me or is the cyber world suddenly awash with loveliness?

Editor Lorraine Clark Design and Web ets.io

Advertising advertising@squealermagazine.com Newsdesk newsdesk@squealermagazine.com

Every day now, without fail, I receive at least 20 mails from kindly souls, each as keen as the other to cut me in on a fantastic stock market opportunity.

Friendly, honest sounding people, with respectable Anglo-Saxon names like Selena Goss, Claire Brown and Walter Spencer. “It’s me!” their messages chirrup from my in- box. “It’s you indeed,” I invariably chirp back as I excitedly read their messages about companies like Cana Petroleum and the Motion Picture Group, whose prices are set to rocket 800% in the next few days and how I would be completely bonkers not to buy huge amounts of their stock immediately.

How bloody decent is that of them? They could have easily kept that information to themselves, but instead they chose to share their spoils with lucky old me. And we haven’t even met!

Indeed, some days the whole gang sends me exactly the same tip at exactly the same time. How spooky is that? It’s like they’re one big happy family of selfless philanthropists hell-bent on tickling the world into a frenzy of financial happiness.

Better surely than the strange messages I used to get from horny college cheerleaders offering to send me their used laundry.

An you won’t believe this but some people have tried to tell me that my generous friends aren’t real at all, but a well-organised band of Russian computer spammers running a ‘pump and dump’ penny stock scam with a botnet and tens of thousands of hijacked computers sending out billions of these messages every day.

That Selena, Claire, Walter and the chaps just want us to buy the stocks to push the price up, so they can sell all the shares they acquired in the company the day before they sent us the emails. Thereby making themselves a fortune at our expense. Talk about hopeless cynics.

They’ll be telling us that Santa Claus and Doggy Heaven don’t exist either.

Questions and Contact: Email: info@squealermagazine.com Web: www.squealermagazine.com

Lorraine Clark editor

TOP QUOTES - Allegedly “Honesty is the key to a relationship. If you can fake that, you’re in.”

– Courtney Cox “When the sun comes up, I have morals again.” – Elizabeth Taylor “For three days after death, hair and fingernails continue to grow, but phone calls taper off.” – Johnny Carson “My mother never saw the irony of calling me a son-of-a-bitch” – Jack Nicholson “My cousin just died. He was only 19. He got stung by a bee-the natural enemy of a tightrope walker.” – Dan Rather “See, the problem is that God gave men a brain and a penis, but only enough blood to run one at a time.” – Robin Williams “A sure cure for seasickness is to sit under a tree.” – Spike Milligan “I saw a woman wearing a sweatshirt with ‘Guess’ on it. I said, ’Implants?’” – Arnold Schwarzenegger “Those are my principles. If you don’t like them I have others.”

– Groucho Marx “I discovered I scream the same way whether I’m about to be devoured by a great White or if a piece of seaweed touches my foot.” – Axel Rose “Clinton lied. A man might forget where he parks or where he lives, but he never forgets oral sex, no matter how bad it is.” –Barbara Bush “I wanna live ‘til I die, no more, no less.” – Eddie Izzard

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TRAVEL SQUEALER

DON’T CRY FOR ME KOH SAMUI Joe Swain laments the demise of Koh Samui’s once proud species of visitor: the backpacker

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It’s hard to imagine Koh Samui as it was in 1989. No airport, no giant superstores, no golf courses and certainly no McDonalds. Indeed, it was a major stopping off point on the South East Asian backpacker route and as such, catered mainly for budget travelers. Or ‘bloody hippies’ as they were affectionately known in those days. The sort of people who thought nothing of spending an hour haggling an impoverished coconut farmer down from 60 Baht a night (to displace him and his family from their rickety timber shack) to 59 Baht. “We’re not rich you know” they’d whine as they snapped away at disappearing sunsets with their 1000 USD Olympus Trip cameras. “You must understand, we’re not tourists, we’re travelers. “As is such a minor change in terminology might bring about a ritual slaughtering of scared chickens by an overjoyed tribal leader, a garland of flowers and a free opium pipe.

I know all this of course because I was one of them. I didn’t think of myself as a hippy though; that was a term strictly reserved for people who ‘traveled’ in India. We were the new breed of backpackers, twenty something office workers who’d saved up enough cash from their grimy city jobs to see a little more of the world than the Spanish Costas. We accepted the tag ‘backpacker’ more readily because we actually used backpacks to carry our things around rather than the rolled up sarongs favoured by the hippies. Not that the Thais saw the difference. I remember chatting to a bar owner in Samui’s then most frequented bar called The Pink Flamingo (or something like that) who asked me a straightforward enough question. “Why is it”, he enquired, “that you all carry around those huge bags on your backs and yet all you ever wear are shorts and vests? What’s in the bags? 30 more pairs of shorts and 30 more vests?’ I had no answer.

In those days a trip to Samui entailed an overnight voyage on a packed open-topped ferry from the mainland port of Suratthani. There was talk of an airport coming soon, a truth that usually solicited a “what a shame” type response from the budget bunnies who thought such a move would surely be disastrous for the island’s businesses. They (ok ‘we’) were of the horribly naïve opinion that the retaliatory shift to less spoilt Thai islands (i.e. poorer ones) that the airport’s arrival would surely spark the consequent removal of our sweaty little wads of cash from the local

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economy, would somehow sound the island’s death knell as one of the most popular ‘R&R’ destinations in Asia.

A move which has, for example, cut the journey time from Singapore down to well under two hours.

But more interestingly perhaps is not the isA conclusion based upon the view that the land’s growth as a tourist resort, but as a retireonly people willing to holiday in places like ment and holiday home destination. Recent Samui were those who didn’t mind roughing it changes in land laws have made it possible, a bit. In a way we were right. Backpackers are with navigable restrictions, for foreigners to indeed a rare sight on Samui today. But you’d own property here on a long term basis. This be hard pushed to find a local businessman has seen a an incredible acceleration in conruing that fact. The island has, you might say, struction and a market of such buoyancy that ‘un-roughened’ itself rather spectacularly. A is now able to attract buyers way from tradiprocess which started with the arrival of the tional hotspots like England, Spain, Florida airport. It now boasts a plethora of Internaand Western Australia. The latest figures cite tional standard hotels and resorts and it draws an expatriate population in excess of 25,000. its millions of annual visitors from virtually ev- Hence the rush to build state of the art golf ery country in the world. Indeed some would courses, plush villa complexes, International say it now rivals its traditional big brothers, schools and high-tech business parks.

Phuket and Bali in that category. Distressing news for the hippies, who kept their side of Some people worry about the sheer ace of the the bargain by moving to neighbouring, Koh island’s development. That with the construcPhangan and Koh Lanta on the West Coast. tion of so many back garden swimming pools, Samui will surely sink into the sea. And it’s And whilst the airport is still one of the cutest true, s with all construction boom towns, the you will ever see, with its beautiful open air local saloons boast more than a few Stetsonterminal buildings and manicured lawns, an clad builders selling their dubious dreams to extension to the runway has opened the door impressionable on-line investors. But in my for Thai operator Bangkok Airways to comple- opinion the sort of people, who can afford to ment its original propeller fleet with small jets. spend anything between 200,000 USD and 6

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2,000,000 USD on a slice of paradise without even making a site visit, deserve to be fleeced. The best advice is probably look around for a developer who actually lives in one of his or her own complexes, or, better still, has a Samuian on the board of directors.

I make no great bones about being a big fan of Samui. Every time I go there I wish I could afford to buy a piece of it before it’s too late. Prices have risen steadily over the last 10 years but it’s still true to say that for what you would pay to own a crappy little one-bedroom flat above a fish and chip shop in some godforsaken provincial suburb in England, you can still get a 3-bedroomed luxury villa with all the trimmings here in Samui. No sweat.

These days the fashionable investors are buying plots on inland developments within a quick drive or a healthy evening stroll of the beaches, rather than paying high premiums for a saltin-the-nostrils location. You might not get that Malibu-de-bum-bum experience that the rock stars so enjoy, but you get far more square meters for your money. Wherein lies one of Samui’s greatest ironies. For 30 years ago (the first tourist didn’t arrive until the mid-70’s) the island’s main wealth lay in its lush coconut plantations, which were, and still are, mainly located inland.

Hence local families would reward their ‘good’ offspring with bequests of fertile inland plots, as a reward for being goodie goodies. Whilst the naughty ones were fobbed off with the ‘rubbish’ beachside plots. Who says the meek are going to inherit the earth?

More about: www.samuiholiday.com Getting there: Bangkok Airways flies from a variety of locations seven days a week: www.bangkokair.com for details.

Living there: Call Holiday Property Abroad on +66 89 047 6348 or visit their website www.holidaypropertyabroad.com (buy me one, please) 7

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VINTAGE PICTURES

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VINTAGE PICTURES

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THE DARWIN ARWARDS - PAST & PRESENT The Darwin Awards: Designed to honour those who have removed themselves from the gene pool and to whom we give thanks…Whether it be true or not…

NEWCASTLE ICICLE Investigative journalism reaches a new “low” when a reporter freezes to death while getting an inside look at the lives of those who sleep rough...

Intending to advance his career, investigative journalist Lee Halpin, 26, decided to acquire background in the problem by pretending to be homeless. He borrowed a sleeping bag and, waving aside the concerns of friends and family, he set off into the streets alone. “I will sleep rough, scrounge for my food, interact with as many homeless people as possible, and immerse myself in that lifestyle as deeply as I can,” said the journalist--three days before freezing to death in a boarded up hostel.

Hypothermia is suspected and autopsy results are pending; meanwhile, two homeless men have been arrested on possibly-related drug charges.

SMOKIN’ HOT SAUCE “It was just a freak incident,” said an investigator, that caused the death of 43-year-old Gary Allen Banning. Gary was at a friend’s apartment when he spotted a salsa jar containing a mystery fluid. Thinking that it was an alcoholic beverage, he helped himself to a sizeable swig of gasoline! Naturally enough, he immediately spit out the offending liquid onto his clothes. Then, to recover from the shock, Gary lit a cigarette.

Whoosh! Gas+Flame=Combustion.

Firefighters responded to calls reporting a fire in the apartment, and found a badly burned man sitting on a charred carpet. The following morning, Gasoline Gary died at the UNC Burn Center in Chapel Hill.

Two mistakes caused his death. The first mistake was minor: gulping a golden liquid from a salsa jar. Although Darwin Awards editors feel that a jar of yellow liquid is best left sealed, drinking its contents usually does not lead to combustion. But the second mistake--lighting up a cigarette to recover from the shock of taking a mouthful of gasoline--was a decision that an average five year old would consider questionable. As the late Bill Hicks said, “Darn, we lost another idiot.”

Gary’s friend was a mechanic and kept the jar of gasoline near the kitchen sink to remove grease from his hands.

VODKA BLUES Washing trucks for a living is not a prestigious job but it does have perks, particularly for those who wash trucks for Beer Stores, a Canadian liquor store chain. The discovery of an onboard bottle of liquor can be considered a tipple-tip, can it not? And swigging free booze surely does make a menial job easier to swallow.

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Which brings us to the deceased Darwin Award winner. Behind the driver’s seat of a Beer Store truck, he discovered a vodka bottle full of blue liquid! Whether the deceased would have swallowed the liquid if it had been a suspicious shade of yellow, I do not know, but a suspicous shade of blue was deemed palatable. He immediately swigged from the bottle, which you have already realized contained windshield wiper fluid.

His taste buds and olfactory bulbs must have been on vacation. During the next two days, the man became sicker and sicker as he transferred the contents of the bottle to his circulatory system. He died in the hospital from methanol poisoning.

Subsequent to his death, a lawsuit against the parent company of Beer Stores deserves a Stella Award for stupid lawsuits. The company has been legally chastised and now forbids truck drivers from placing windshield wiper fluid in alcohol bottles.

WHAC A MOLE A 63-year-old man’s extraordinary effort to eradicate moles from his property resulted in a victory for the moles. The man pounded several metal rods into the ground and connected them--not to household current, which would have been bad enough--but to a high-voltage power line, intending to render the subterranean realm uninhabitable.

Incidentally, the maneuver electrified the very ground on which he stood. He was found dead some time later, at his holiday property on the Baltic Sea. Police had to trip the main circuit breaker before venturing onto the property.

The precise date of the sexagenarian’s demise could not be ascertained, but the electric bill may provide a clue.

AND FINALLY……

An angry handicapped man, annoyed that an elevator departed without him, thinks it over before ramming his wheelchair into the doors (bam!) once, twice, three times in all. Success and failure combined as he gained access to the elevator, and plunged down the rabbit hole to his death. This 40-year-old man earns immortality as an irritated Darwin Award winner.

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Holiday Property Abroad – Villa rentals on the island of Koh Samui, Thailand.

We have a great selection of rental villas to choose from – With the best deals and the knowledge to be able to make your Villa vacation dream come true.

If you can’t find what you like on our website, contact us with your details and we will look for you!

www.holidaypropertyabroad.com email: info@holidaypropertyabroad.com phone: (+66) 089 047 6348

Book your New Year holiday – Be first to get the best deals!

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Samui Holiday

Back in the 1970s the word ‘Samui’ was known only to a few of the most adventurous backpackers eager to explore this little known and tricky to reach island. Then, a basic thatched bungalow with generator power and running water was considered luxury. Nowadays, 5-star resorts, that rival any world-class destination, occupy the prime beachfront and clifftop locations bringing the jetsetter crowd to this now well-known and easily accessible island in the Gulf of Thailand.

Samui is Thailand’s third largest island, yet mea sures just 21 kilometres at its widest point and 25 at its longest. A ring-road runs around the island for approximately 50 kilometres and links the many beaches and bays, so hiring a car or scooter is recommended, as it’s the best way to explore. Don’t be afraid to venture down an unmarked palm-lined track – this is how you come across some of Samui’s best kept secret beaches.

And it’s beaches after all that bring visitors to a tropical island, and those visitors will not be disappointed with Samui’s selection of bays and coves - from long stretches of white sand, to small coves, protected by giant boulders.

Samui’s eastern and northern shores are the

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most populated, and Chaweng is the busiest beach, with hardly a gap along the beachfront between restaurants, resorts and bars. At night, the beach takes off her sundress and glams up with her evening dress, completes with diamond earrings – metaphorically speaking that is. As the sun sets, sun-loungers are replaced with tables set out at the water’s edge. The aroma of sunscreen is replaced by the mouth-watering smells wafting from the open seafood barbecues on the beach. Sunglasses come off, first to view the brilliant sunsets, and later to gaze at the moon over the bay, or the fairy lights and lanterns lighting up the beach and palm trees.

As developed as Samui has become in some areas, what’s good to know is that the island observes a quaint building regulation – no building may be higher than the closest coconut palm. Now while these palms can get quite tall, this is still a far cry from the skyscrapers that line Phuket’s (Thailand’s biggest island) shore, and most resorts are still of the villa or bungalow style. If you’re looking for a slower pace, head west and south and get a feel of what Samui must have been like a few decades ago.

Another beach worth visiting is Choeng Mon at the north-eastern tip of the island. Frequented by expats, this is an ideal family beach, with just enough vendors to be convenient when you’re looking for a snack or drink, but not enough to bother you. South of Chaweng, before Samui’s second largest beach of Lamai, are two small coves, namely Crystal Bay and Coral Cove.

Samui has more to offer visitors and residents than just glorious beaches. Golf enthusiasts will delight in the views on offer from the challenging Santiburi Golf Club, high up in the hills above Maenam. There’re other golfing options available on the island too, including mini golf, and believe it or not, football golf.

There’s a fair selection of adrenalin sports, both on land and in water too.

accommodation-wise. From tiny beach bungalows, with not more than a hammock swinging between two trees, to luxury establishments offering the best of everything as well as all types of rooms in between, you’ll find it on Samui. There’s traditional to contemporary, family-friendly to hip and happening and allinclusive resorts to self-catering establishments too.

One of the best parts of travelling is trying new food.

Whether it’s Thai food you’re after or international cuisine, Samui’s chefs can prepare it for you. Be sure to try a walking street market during your stay too.

Fancy a night out on the town? Well the busier areas such as Chaweng and Lamai are home to a vast selection of night clubs, bars and cabaret shows. But you don’t have to wait until evening to party, with venues such as Nikki Beach on the west coast, and Beach Republic on the east coast, hosting DJs from lunchtime as guests mingle, dine and laze by the beachfront pools.

There’s plenty to see too during your stay, from viewpoints to temples and religious sites and butterfly gardens to Muay Thai boxing matches. There’s so much to see and do, that’s it’s best to make a list of your favourites so you don’t miss out.

Shopaholics won’t be disappointed with the retail therapy on offer. From bargaining at market stands to buying local designer-wear or original souvenirs made on Samui , you’ll find just what you’re looking for. Samui may not have big shopping malls (yet), but that doesn’t mean shopping can’t be fun and rewarding as you wander along the shopping strips set back from the beaches. Of course, you can have a suit tailor-made too in just a day or two. Who would have thought?

Whether you’re planning an action-packed holiday, or

Prefer something a little less energetic? Well Samui has become known as a spa, detox and pampering hub of Southeast Asia.

Whether you’re after a full detox program or just a day of ‘me time’, you’ll find a vast array of spas to choose from. You can’t go wrong with a 300 baht massage on the beach too. a time to unwind with the family, you can find all the Whether you’re a backpacker, a flashpacker or a 5-star- information you require at www.samuiholiday.com. It all-the-way kind of traveller, again, Samui will please will even tell you how to get here …

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HOW TO GET TO SAMUI Fancy the Holiday of a Lifetime?

Koh Samui could be the place for YOU! Why Samui? What makes this tropical island in the Gulf of Thailand so popular, welcoming around one million tourists annually via air and ferry. An overview of this amazing island of coconuts, its beaches, and what it has to offer the holidaymaker.

Read more about the beaches on Samui...

http://www.samuiholiday.com/samuiinbrief.html

How do you get here?

As Samui is an island, it goes without saying that flight or ferry are your only options. Here you will find advice on not only the quickest and easiest way to reach Samui by air, but also budget options that involve trains, busses and finally ferries. It doesn’t matter HOW you get here, just get here!

http://www.samuiholiday.com/ gettingto.html 16

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Koh Samui has something for everyone‌ As well as enjoying the natural beauty that is everywhere on Koh Samui, there are also many interesting and exciting aspects of island life to explore; some traditions having remained unchanged for centuries. And, of course, there is a wide variety of fascinating local temples to visit and some of them may surprise you!

http://www.samuiholiday.com/attractions.html

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VINTAGE SPOTLIGHT

SPIKE MILLIGAN 18

SQUEALER MAGAZINE / ISSUE 3 A FEW YEARS AGO A YOUNG REPORTER FROM THE University of Sydney’s student magazine heard on the grapevine that Spike was in Australia visiting his brother. Understandably he thought it would be a good idea to try and grab an impromptu interview and with a skilful combination of initiative and alcoholic bribery, managed to persuade a vague acquaintance at Directory Enquires to furnish him with the address of Spike’s brother, Patrick.

He was probably best known for the 1950s live radio comedy ‘The Goon Show’ and later for the ‘Q’ series of television shows. But he was also a prolific writer. He published his first novel, ‘Puckoon’ in 1963 and in 1974 released ‘Adolf Hitler, My Part In His Downfall’, the first of a seven book series of war memoirs. He was also a keen poet and wrote lovely little ditties like, “Last night in the twilight gloom, a butterfly flew into my room. Oh what beauty!

Oh what grace! Who needs visitors from outer space?”

What joy filled his heart. For he was a big, big fan. An avid Goon Show quoter. “As a mark of respect I even borrowed a suit”, he later told a friend. But his excitement was soon to turn to bewilderment when, the following day, he turned up on Patrick Milligan’s doorstep with the companion who had driven him there, to find a far from gruntled Spike in a particularly ascorbic mood.

“Oh, he’s brought someone to look at me. I should have known.

It’s Australia. They bring people to look at you. We had someone over for dinner last week and she brought four people.” The nervous young student mumbled something like “any chance of an interview then Spike?” and produced his newly purchased copy of ‘It Ends With Magic’ before meekly asking for the great man’s autograph.

Spike was also famous for being adored by Prince Charles. Who, it is claimed, wrote hundreds of fan letters to the Goon Show as a child and is now the official patron of the Goon Show Preservation Society. Spike was typically dismissive of his friendship with the prince and on a live television awards show in 1994 described him as a “grovelling little bastard”. He followed this by sending Charles a telegram saying, “I suppose a knighthood’s out of the question now is it?” (Two years later he was awarded an honoury knighthood from Buckingham Palace.)

He was hugely admired by his peers. Eddie Izzard described him as the godfather of alternative comedy. “He was a great man, a crazy wonderful genius”, whilst Stephen Fry said, “Spike was entirely his own mad Irish self. He came out of nowhere. If there is a definition of genius it is that whatever province you are in, you leave it different. He left comedy different.”

And like all great comedians Spike left us with only a few parting words. His epitaph. Which simply reads, “I told you I was ill.”

“Please don’t ask me to autograph that” barked Spike. “I f*****g signed three hundred of those just this morning. Why don’t you be the person whose book wasn’t signed by Spike Milligan?” The disheartened student began to sense that his ‘big scoop’ interview chance was fast evaporating and decided to cut his losses and thank the man for his time.

“That’ll be $3.20” said Milligan. “And promise me you’ll never bring a woman to our interviews again. You may bring a cheetah, or a rhinoceros, but not a woman. Now bugger off.”

Spike was a complex character you see. A manic depressive and a comic genius both at the same time. A non-smoking vegetarian who was keenly committed to environmental issues and who was once quoted as saying, “I support all the causes that are trying to increase the sensitivity of the human race to the odious things that they do. We’re a pretty horrendous crowd”.

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INSTANT HUMOR Spanish Delicacy

A man went to a restaurant in Madrid. He ordered the house special and was brought a plate with potatoes, corn and two large meaty objects.

“What are these?” he asked the waiter.

“Cojones, senor,” said the waiter.

“What exactly are cojones?”

“They are the testicles of the bull that lost at the arena this afternoon.”

Overcoming his initial reservations, the man decided to try this local delicacy and found it very tasty. Indeed he liked it so much the he returned the following night and ordered the same again. The waiter appeared with a plate of potatoes and corn, but this time the two meaty objects were much smaller. Nevertheless, the man ate and thoroughly enjoyed them.

“What were they?” he asked the waiter afterwards.

“Cojones, senor.”

“No I had the cojones yesterday and they were much bigger.”

“Ah yes senor, but the bull does not lose every time.”

Quotes

Ever wondered if illiterate people get the full effect of alphabet soup - John Mendoza Whenever you tell anyone you’re an insomniac you can guarantee what they’ll say: “That’s funny because I’m asleep the moment my head hits the pillow.” But when I meet a blind man, I don’t say: That’s funny because I can see perfectly,” - David Baddiel Sometimes I think war is God’s way of teaching us geography - Paul Rodriguez

Wait Here

Two blondes are waiting at a bus stop, when a bus pulls up and opens the door. One of the blondes leans inside and asks the driver: “Will this bus take me to 5th Avenue?”

The bus driver shakes his head and says, “No, I’m sorry.”

At this the other blonde leans inside, smiles and twitters: “Will it take ME?”

Just looking

A customer in a bakery was observed carefully examining all the rich-looking astries displayed on trays in the glass cases.

A clerk approached him and asked, “What would you like?”

He answered, “I’d like that chocolate-covered, cream-filled doughnut, that jelly-filled doughnut and that cheese Danish.”

Then with a sigh and a sad look on his face, he added, “But I’ll take a bran muffin.”

Help me

A man went into a bookstore and asked the saleswomen where the Self-Help section was. She said, “If I told you, it would defeat the purpose.”

Statues

For decades, two heroic statues, one male and one female, faced each other in a city park, until one day an angel came down from heaven.

“You’ve been such exemplary statues,” he announced to them, “That I’m going to give you a special gift. I’m going to bring you both to life for thirty minutes, in which you can do anything you want.” And with a clap of his hands, the angel brought the statues to life.

The two approached each other a bit shyly , but soon dashed for the bushes, from which shortly emerged a good deal of giggling, laughter, and shaking of branches.

Fifteen minutes later, the two statues emerged from the bushes, wide grins on their faces.

“You still have fifteen more minutes,” said the angel, winking conspiratorially.

Grinning even more widely the female statue turned to the male statue and said, “Great! Only this time you hold the pigeon down and I’ll shit on its head.”

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JUST THOUGHTS I’M FOREVER BLOWING BUBBLES

Joe Swain dons a large sheepskin coat and plays at being a bookie for 4.1 the day. Very badly as it happens.

It was George Bernard Shaw who once said, ‘a fool and his money are easily parted’ and if that adage is true, on the last day of the football season this year I came dangerously close to spending the rest of my life crawling down Orchard Road in a 3-pointed hat frothing, “Out of my way Lemons, for it is I, Sir Lancelot who shall be king!”

It all started in a post-brunch haze. A friend of mine, a life-long West Ham fan, was suffering from a bad case of delusional selfdenial. “There’s no way we’ll get relegated”, he suddenly announced, with the sort of boyish bravado that would have had the Iraqi Information Minister stroking his head and purring, “I love you Mini Me”.

“All we’ve got to do is win our Last four games! And bet you $20 that’s exactly what we’ll do my son.” (They’re very paternal in their colloquialisms, these cockney types).

Buoyed by the knowledge that his team had never in their entire history won four games in a row, that their manager had just been admitted to hospital with a suspected heart attack and that their season’s Leading striker had so far scored fewer goals than the toilet cleaner at Man United, I rose to his challenge.

“Name your odds” I countered. “Three hundred to one” he ventured. “Done” I concluded.

Just like that. No assessment of the overall common sense of the bet, no quick phone call to my ‘numbers’ man in the back room.

Just pure, Laddish testosterone. Not the sort of stuff successful bookmakers are made of unfortunately. “That’s right dear” I said to my pregnant wife Later that night, “If West Ham win their last four games, I owe Chris six grand. Yes, that’s right, ‘grands’ as in thousands. But hey, don’t worry, if they don’t, I get to fleece him for a cool twenty bucks!” The look of pure admiration on her face is one I shall never forget.

Things didn’t start welt. Inspired by their caretaker manager and everyone’s favourite football pundit, Trevor ‘My Old Team West Ham’ Brooking, they won their next two games. Middlesborough and Man City both viciously mugged in broad daylight by sneakthief, Last-minute winners.

‘Interesting’ dilemmas about the whole business of betting with friends began to pervade my sleep. The general rules are simple.

On one hand you have what are known as ‘proper’ bets. These are, by definition, smallish. Ten, twenty, maybe fifty dollars. If you lose one of these, you pay up. No arguments. On the other hand, you have ‘silly’ bets. A million here, a million there. These are never paid. Demands of, “Oil You owe me a million dollars from the football last night” are rightly met with, “But I gave the cheque to Elvis - hasn’t he dropped it down your chimney yet?” Trying to figure out where exactly six thousand dollars fitted on this scale, raised some inevitable questions. How much did I value my friendship

with Chris? Would he really expect me to pay up? Would I pay up?

The prospect of embarrassment lurked around the corner.

Even if I were to shrug off the debt with a “Surely you didn’t really expect me to pay it did you mate?” line of defence, he would be well within his rights to give me an exceedingly hard time. He would certainly never have to buy himself a drink in my company again. “Knock it off the slate, my son” he would say with a broad Cheshire smirk. I realized that for considerably less than six grand.

I could probably have him killed. But that seemed a tad unfriendly.

Surely Claudio Ranieri’s high-flying Chelsea would do a job for me in the third game. Wouldn’t they? Yeah, right. Another 1-0 mugging. By this time I wasn’t sleeping at all. I already knew I probably wouldn’t pay Chris his money, and yet I also suspected I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to have him killed either. The stuff of insomnia.

And so it was on the final day of the season that I found myself relying on newly promoted Birmingham to put me out of my misery. Which, after the tensest final ten minutes of a football season I have ever endured, they did, courtesy of a hard fought 2-2 draw.

The moral of the story of course, is that bravado bets such as these should never be made half-heartedly. Always think in trillions. It will sound just as impressive to your mates, and believe you me, you’ll sleep a whole lot better afterwards. And, just in case you’re wondering, yes, I did let Chris off the $20. With an exceptionally broad Cheshire smirk as it happens.

21

SQUEALER MAGAZINE / ISSUE 4

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