Five Card Trick

Years ago, I used to play Pontoon with my father, he was an avid card game player, and while Bridge left me napping on the sofa with boredom (never got past the snooze-worthy basics), I loved playing this particular game with him. The 5 Card Trick is a special aspect of Pontoon that adds to the challenge. Understanding this can help you develop your game. To achieve a 5 Card Trick, you must collect five cards without exceeding a total value of 21, which requires a delicate balance and careful decision-making, and a lot of sniggering at our particular card table. 

If you manage to gather five cards under or equal to 21, it counts as a 5 Card Trick. This hand is highly valued and often stands out compared to other hands with a total of 21. Each time you decide to twist, you’re working towards forming this distinctive hand.

Now my papa was, unlike me, little Miss Dyscalculia here, a steely mathematician and somehow, to his dismay he had not only produced someone who was shit at maths, but also horrific at science (he was an industrial pharmacist who studied at Imperial in London). But he didn’t just have a clever mind, he snuck in the sneaky parental trick of helping me a bit with my number ineptness, while dealing on top of that the family tradition of being ultra-competitive. In all he had cleverly found a game that he and I could really enjoy together. The keeping the tally bit for me, played into my will to win, as well as track over time, who won last time, it was like another edge to the game, having those rolling score cards and league tables. It was a smashing way of giving me some number confidence back, as well as spending time with one of my favourite people on the planet. 

When my father died, and we were sitting down deciding who had what from the house. I asked for the antique card table, it’s one of those ones that swivels around and opens up with a lovely green baize circle inside. But when I eventually got it home, the absolute gem in my hand was one of our old score cards, still tucked inside the table drawer with a wedge of old wax crayon we’d used to mark the cards. It was like holding my very own King of Hearts.

But more recently, I have just binge watched my way through Sneaky Pete on Netflix. No spoilers but it’s about a confidence trickster, and this got me thinking about not just those sly types that slide into your life over the years, but particularly how money and control, amongst other abhorrence’s makes some people turn into absolute wankers, of this there is no denying. 

I’ve met a few tricky sods in my time, but sometimes I’ve trusted my belief in humanity rather than my gut instinct, and you know that’s okay too, it’s their badness, their trickery not yours or mine. I’ll let you into a secret, you can worry yourself about what’s been, the trick dear reader, is to decide how it’s going to be.  At the end of the Sneaky Pete series and without giving it all away, we see him realise a lot of things and that in one way or another is a learning for him. By repeating his tricks over and over and by teaching others he sees the value in… well, you will need to watch it to find out exactly what. But it deals back to my experience with my father, that practice is in itself a learning trick, while achieving self-belief is another altogether.

But what about the tricks your body or mind can play on itself. Fairly recent social media has been covering the so-called rapture, most of which was absolutely hilarious. But some people actually fall for this nonsense, and I’m not talking about your faith but the really mind-bending bollocks that this was.

Religion has a real and defining place in many people’s lives, not least of all mine. I’d go so far as to say, that particular faith aside, being brought up with a belief taught me to be a better, kinder and more honest person. Most people I know will tell you; I find it impossible to lie, and that’s not some religious guilt, it’s just an honest to goodness default setting to be truthful. And that for me is a good trick to have up your sleeve, and no I’m not going to say ‘the truth shall set you free’, but a lie, in my book takes away the person you are fibbing to, their own right to choose based on the truth. If you tell someone you are well, when you are actually sick, for instance, it takes away their ability to care or to help.  

I’ve rambled off track here a bit, as usual… but what I wanted to say, that finding your trick, that ace up your sleeve, be that a post-it note stuck to your forehead, or a rhyme that helps you remember; – that version of your own card trick, which can be as mind bending as a mathematicians puzzle or finding your own equivalent of that old Pontoon scorecard, to remind you, that like me, you can at least now add up to 21. There’s no gambling with those odds, but your chances are always good if you play life with truth and love at the centre of your deck. 

How do I do it, what’s my trick with for instance my recent country-moving decision. Yes, I get scared sometimes, like for instance, have I done the maths correctly (eeek) have I got enough in the tin to live off until I shuffle off this earth? Fear is just that, it’s a mind trick – it’s a feeling rather than a reality, the reality is I’ve got this far on my own, and now moved to another country. So, excuse me if I dust off the superwoman pants even for a moment. 

Tricks aren’t just for the brave or the calculating miscreants, we all have them up our sleeves for when we need them. Call it self-belief if you want to. 

P.S My papa was one for some hilarious top tips, he once told me while helping with the Sunday lunch, that the best trick to get clean finger nails was to make a crumble. And that is exactly the person I got my sense of humour from, …well, I did warn you. 


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The Most Important Light

Last week I was heading into London to get my hair cut, I parked my car at the station and headed over the footbridge, there is a lovely view for miles down the straight track, with the South Downs in one direction and the castle in the distance in the other. But last week, there was young man standing crying, and I mean really crying. His face was red, and his eyes were that blotchy swollenness, that told me he’d been sobbing for ages. 

I stopped and asked him if he was okay, and the flood gates opened as he cried even harder while he told me his father had died and he just couldn’t stop the tide of grief, it was constant, and he was broken with abject sadness. 

I noticed someone from the station staff edging closer, and I realised the potential seriousness of the situation. But I kept talking to him, and I gave him a hug and said how sorry I was, and said he was obviously really close to his dad, and how special he must have been to him. He then told me, that his father had passed two years ago, and he just was not getting beyond his overwhelming sadness. I could see the panic in his face, as he felt literally trapped and had no way of knowing which way to go with his pain.

I shared with him my own sorrow, that my father had died some years ago and that grief has no timeline and it’s always okay to cry and to miss someone so much your heart feels like it’s cracking open. How the smallest things will set you off at random, for me it could be at a supermarket and seeing a massive bar of Cadburys wholenut, my father’s favourite, or just simply out of the blue for no reason other than my eyes just decided to leak like their life depended on it. The times I have stood and turned my face away from others, as the loss of my father was overwhelming, not wanting to share my hearbreak. But it’s okay, to miss someone you loved that much. 

I offered him my Mars bar as by this point, I was trying to keep him talking and distract him; he had a dairy allergy. From my other pocket I produced an apple… he laughed a little through his tears.  I said I always have a small buffet on me for emergencies, you never know when you need a snack. 

I asked him which train he was getting, and it was the same as me, so I asked if he’d walk with me (sneaky distraction technique) as I had bad knees after my surgery. As we walked, he told me how he used to work with his father, and they lived together and bit by bit the love he had for him just spilled out of his every word. He was absolutely broken with grief. A few more words and tears, and he told me he was going into London for a medical appointment as he’d injured his neck in a bike accident years ago, his dad would have gone with him, they’d have had a day out. Now he was on his own. If you could ever tangibly feel sorrow, it was in that moment. 

The train came and we got on, I could see he wanted to sit alone so I just sat a few rows along and let him know if he wanted to come and sit with me if he just wanted the company that was okay. He showed me a photo of him and his father, must have been a family wedding, peas in a pod and both so happy. I showed him one of my papa and me, and it all of a sudden reminded me that this month was the anniversary of his death. In that second, I realised that I hadn’t just helped him, he’d helped me as well. By sharing my experience of grief, I’d put into words how I feel and also how I try and manage those raw emotions when they do hit me. And they still do. Often.

He wanted to know if it gets easier, not really, I replied, but somehow you learn to cope with it, most of the time. But there are also days when it just is okay to cry and feel that your heart won’t be the same ever again. I like to think it won’t, in a way I think that’s how it should be, when someone you loved that much passes. 

One of my favourite films has a quote at the end, which puts this into far better words than I can … and I’ll paraphrase, as it’s in Italian;

They say that the most important light is the one that you cannot see. That there is so much to life that goes unnoticed, and while it’s unbelievably hard some days to recognise positivity, it’s there. There will be days when that light helps you go forwards, like some sneaky torch just leading you on a little bit nearer to the hope that life can wrap sunshine all around you. But also, that loving someone and missing them is entirely okay, just know that there will be days when you can feel life is good.

If I had words to sing a day for you

I’d sing you a morning golden and new

I would make this day last for all time

Give you a night, deep in moonshine

By Scott Fitzgerald

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