I do love a game of poker. It really does grab you by the balls and holds you close saying: “Yeah? Yeah?! You think you’re so fucking hot, huh? Punk ass?” Well, that makes it sound like a violent pimp, but you get my drift. No? OK: Poker is awesome.

Mind you, I’m not great at the suspense side of it. I get all screechy when I’ve gone all in (chucked all your chips away) and are awaiting the river card (the last one they flip over and the American commentator of late-night Channel 4 poker shows calls out “Holy Yowza! If that ain’t the darnedest 3 hole strip-lined dandy river I ever saw!”…or something). I can’t bloody stand it!

It’s odd. I’m fine with scary films. I’m a picture of serenity with any real-life danger. Even sporting pressure is OK, (I played rugby for many a year until I got ill…and shit at it). But in the context of a game? I really am useless.

I’ve been known to stand up and shout: “WILL YOU FRIGGING HURRY UP AND TURN OVER THE CARDS YOU DIRTY ASSSSSHOOOOOLEEEE” at the poor, defenceless dealer! Well I say “defenceless”. I was escorted out of the casino by a burly security guy…who was wearing the same uniform as the croupiers. I hope he wasn’t a croupier…anyway, as per usual, I digress.

Come to think of it, I’m rubbish in other suspense-filled games.

Jenga? Jesus wept; I’m a nervous wreck… The thought of being responsible for a whole structure just tumbling down brings me out in hives! I stay clear of any game that even looks like it’s primarily made from wood now.

Buckaroo. It’s the bastard’s face. He looks so stressed! There is nothing worse than staring at an angry donkey carrying random objects.

Kerplunk? Fuck off.

So, by all means play me at Scrabble. Or Monopoly. Cluedo (or Clue to you Yanks) is a bit of a grey area. Hmmm. Better stick to I spy.

by Ceri Phillips