Woe is me. Woe is my bridge playing. Shocking. Tragic. Okay not tragic that’s a bit rich. Steve Irwin’s death is tragic. 911 was tragic. My bridge playing is not tragic but neither is it good. My colleague at work – lets call him The Brain – himself a bridge master – suggests that while I’m absorbing new stuff my game is likely to suffer. I hope he’s right. Sooner or later we’ve got to have a good round.
It’s become a joke. Every week we say – ah well – it’ll get better next week. But no.
I’m going to buy Jack and practice online a bit. (not that I like playing bridge online but desperate times…)
And yes I’m drinking again – but not every night – she says sipping a nice glass of white – and I’m not counting the minutes til wine o’clock every night either. That’s got to be a good thing.