Colombo, Casinos and Cricket

I had a pretty big weekend involving the Three C’s, which usually refers to Canadian club and coke but not this time. It all began on Thursday. Yes, my weekend officially starts on Thursday once a month, when the Australian’s of Colombo converge on the Australian High Commission for a bbq (not free, dodgey bastards) and beer. Every month, second Thursday. Conveniently for me, the high.com is across the road from my office. As I write this blog, I am actually looking at the patriotic flag of Australia dropping in the monsoonal rain. Not that it was a huge night on Thursday; not by the Byron and Emma standards of Olde. But it was definitely a merry evening filled with clinking of fosters (they ran out of VB.. tragic, blasphoemic, traitoric!) with US marines and internally displaced volunteers/humanitarian workers from the North and East. The last time I was there and my boss turned up, we ended up walking out of a the nightclub R&B’s at like 4am. He also kicked my ass in pool, but to this day I assure you I was letting him win because he was my new boss.. and because I was drunk and had no option.

The following evening after a dodgey dodgey morning filled with staff meetings and (gulp) work, Embo and I decided to chill back. Besides, Wendy was flying through from the Philippines on her way back to Ampara. We left the key under the mat, and in the morning we woke up to the sounds of her new karaoke machine. Note: This is the third machine in Ampara, and I am very distressed that we are no longer residing in the karaoke capital of Sri Lanka. I did get my quick fix though.. Nirvana, Come As You Are. I too want to be a Rockstar Supernova so I can travel the world doing the thing I love, drinking.

On Saturday, Embo Bill and myself all went and bought prescription glasses together. I think we all walked out there going “WTF, how am I going to wear these schlogs for the rest of my life?”. Bill went and bought the same glasses the English Ministry of Health distributed for free during his childhood… now that’s retro!

After some shopping, food, and even squeeeeeezing in some playstation (oh my.. feel the power in your hands.. just thinking about it makes me want to.. ughhhh) we did something else that didn’t really matter. But what does matter is how it all ends. So after doing the thing that didn’t matter, we wanted to do another thing of no relevance; but sadly, that nightclub was closed because they didn’t pay their electricity bill on time. I reckon they didn’t bribe someone on time, but whatever. So brainstorming all the cool places to go, we choose none of them and decide on a dodgey casino down some back alley. It’s called Roxy’s, the casino not the alley. The alley is called something else completely random that has no bearing on this story.

For those who know me, I am not much of a gambler. Flutter here, flutter there, whatever. But put myself, Nelson, Helen and Bill in a line, put some cards in front of us a a dude standing behind a green table with a wry smile on his face, and we are electrifying. Hit. Hit. Stand. Lose. Hit. Bust. Hit. Win. And so it goes on and on. Everyone has their system, even Nelson who’s system is to ask Bill what’s going on. Emma and some others were none too impressed, while Nelson lost too quickly, so in the end they all went their own ways while Bill Helen and myself decided to continue to lose our money. This placed rocked. This place gave free drinks continuously.. and I mean serious drinks; like 80% whiskey, and the rest air or coke colouring. Bill drank his fast and ferociously. I diluted mine with ice and speed. Helen.. well by the time I went to check what Helen was drinking, I could barely see the little ball spinning around on the 37 sectored wheel let alone her drink. Simpson was a nice guy though.. he served us the drinks. I thought a dodey casino in Colombo would be, well more dodgey. Everyone told me about prostitutes and the like, but I didn’t notice much of it. It was quite loud and people would jump over you to throw their money on lucky number 17, but that was about it. We eventually got too drunk for that, and went to the Blue Room: double stakes high rollers with noone but us three and six other people: the guy to watch you place your bets, the guy to count out the winnings, the guy to spin the ball, the guy to serve you your drink, the guy to manage the previous four, and Felix. Felix managed it all. He doesn’t smile much, but he did like the fact we weren’t winning and weren’t annoying too many people. Bill wanted to put 500 on the outside, but the minimum was 1000. He tried about 4 times, in like 10 minute intervals. He wasn’t malicious, he was just drunk and forgot that he only wanted to bet 500 but had to bet 1000. I played the inside, 100 minimum per number. 1000 a spin was my game, spread. I won back all my losses from Black Jack earlier on; I then lost them all and some more. Oh well, Felix knows I’ll be back.

The next day was an all you can eat brunch at the hotel where the South African cricketers are staying. Most people had the all you can eat champagne too; Bill and I meanwhile were in a grumpy mood sipping the water. Water was good, but you had to serve yourself half the time. I saw Tom Moody, coach of Sri Lanka; and Sean Pollock floated around too. I think I saw some others, but I didn’t care at that stage of the morning.

I feel I should interlude my weekend discussion with a bit about cricket. South Africa, you suck and you are going to lose, and you know it so you are using the bombs as an excuse to leave this country before you lose 4-0 to India and Sri Lanka in the tri series. You suck. I wanted to watch cricket (don’t worry Gibbs, I wasn’t going to watch your fat hairy face – I have my own; I wanted to watch India V Sri Lanka). I wanted to hear about you lose and watch other great matches. But no. Now my cricket schedule is thrown all out of whack, because you are a bunch of tea toting courageless yella’ wimps. Scared of bombs? Whatever. Scared of the wile of Murali, that’s more like it!

The rest of Sunday evening was really cool actually. We went to the Rugby Club to listen to some Jazz. It seemed that anyone and everyone who was white was there, and some others too. I kept bumping in to people I have met through work and not remembering their names; I hate that. The jazz was loud. The grass was wet. And the beer was cheap and cool – like me. So I'll be back.

B.