‘Very well observed, that woman. What does everyone fancy? Quick round of rummy?’ Lee’s skinny fingers rippled and shanked the cards.

‘Watch him. He’s a shark,’ muttered Sean.

‘Texas poker? Scabby Queen? Blackjack?’

Clio pulled her shades off, turned to face him.

‘What did you say?’

‘Blackjack?’

‘Before that.’

‘Scabby Queen?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You never played it? It’s a good one, that. You play with an almost full deck, except there’s only one queen in it, and she’s hidden in there somewhere. Everyone gets a full hand – that’s why you need at least four, see, otherwise there’s too many cards – and you take it in turns in drawing from each person’s pile. Every time you get a pair, they’re coupled off and taken out of play. The queen goes round and round, and the object is to get rid of her – pass her on to the next one as quickly as you can. Person left with the queenie at the end loses, you see. Poor girl, int she. And the guy left holding her – he gets hit over the knuckles with the full deck. Papercuts and all. Can get a bit scabby, like.’

Clio laughed. It sounded a bit forced.

‘I’m from a mining town, hon. That means something pretty different back home, that does. Or maybe not.’ She breathed out. ‘Anyway, I hate to spoil your bridge party, but me and Mr Munro here are going to use this time to conduct our all-star celebrity interview. Away from your nosy face.’

She pinged one of Lee’s ears with affection.

‘Fancy holing up in the bar, Neilio? I’m sure the sun’s over the yard arm somewhere. All that talk of Bloody Mary has me thirsty. Bloody Clio time.’

She stood up, offered Neil her hand and turned that megawatt smile on him. He felt warm again.

Daily Mail, October 2016

AND FINALLY, Nineties has-been poll tax one-hit wonder Clio Campbell took to Twitter yesterday for a spectacularly unhinged rant about Brexit. The ageing former star, who has in recent years made more noise with her outspoken political rantings than her music, condemned all Leave voters as ‘ignorant racists’ and sent a string of offensive messages to UKIP leader Nigel Farage.

The once sexy redhead should perhaps pay more attention to her own lyrics – people gotta rise up indeed!

JOHN BIDDIE

HAMZA

London, 24 January 2018

All he had was flashes. Six years and he don’t know how he spent it. They were off their tits a lot, being fair. But this felt bigger than comedown-smashed brain cells, like he’d deliberately blanked it out.

‘It’s weird, right,’ he said to Calvin, ‘like you live through something then your brain just tidies it away, like na mate, you don’t need to see that again, I’ll just drop that into the charity shop for you. Know what I mean?’

Calvin knew.