As we walked down the urban decayed street in West London I felt decidedly uncomfortable. I am not familiar with the area and am happiest when in North or East London. At least it wasn't south of the river, then I would have not been happy! We reached a decaying door and buzzed the intercom, after a couple of minutes wait we were buzzed in, straight down a set of stairs, through a set of double doors and into a lounge room. Various gambling machines were scattered around and a big black man welcomed us, he had a strong carribbean accent and only half of one of his front teeth. A big scar ran down the right side of his face. Despite his appearance he was very warm and welcoming. Scanning round the room, it was a shithole. No smoking signs stained yellow by the nicotine, how ironic!!
An woman dressed in a short skirt and tight black top asked us if we wanted drinks. She had obviously been a looker in her day but that day has been a long time ago. Her lips were the victims of bad bottox which gave her a constant look of confusion. We were still waiting for a few more people to arrive. I ordered a coffee, when Pussy Galore fetched it to me it had scum floating on top of it and looked less than appetising. I didn't want to upset our host and make a fuss so I took a sip and placed the cup somewhere out of my sight. Pussy Galore was loitering, she wanted her tip, she wasn't on a wage. I gave her a quid and she scuttled off. I was checking out the competition, a couple of old carribbean fella's and some familiar faces from other clubs, nothing I couldn't handle. A couple of the guys were smoking spliffs and the smell in the room was dominated by weed and fast food.
Finally we were seated, it seemed that everyone was smoking. A quick head count and of the 10 players 7 of them were smoking. 2 of these puffing on joints. The smoke hung in a haze above the table and in a matter of minutes my eyes were stinging and my lungs burning. It was not ideal but I needed to put it out of my head. I maintained my usual quiet, unassuming persona at the table and was progressing nicely if not quickly. After an hour or so I was up but not by much. Then I started to feel weird, my normal persona dissapeared and I had turned into the proverbial chatterbox, I had all these gangster types around me and I couldn't stop taking the piss. I was doing it in my usual cheeky way and was getting away with it. I won a reasonable pot against the host, his scarred face turned into a smile and he said " you fucked me didn't you" there was no animosity and I replied " I prefer to say made love rather than fucked, I made love to you! " I said it then regretted it. The table was silent and I waited for his reposte. He just burst out laughing, as did everyone else at the table. I had got away with it. I think all the second hand smoking had gone to my head, I was buzzing and had developed verbal diarrhoea.
It turned out to be a very successful night and an eye opener. I will not be going there again though. At 5am we decided to call it a day, My eyes were burning my head aching but I was well in the black and achieved my aim. Next time I play poker I am going to make sure it's a non smoking club, it's disgusting.
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