A year almost ending at Pannal.
Oodles of hands have been played.
Cards have been dealt
Boards handed out,
Contracts; some lost and some made.
Incredulous sighs at the travellers,
How could that possibly win ?
Such sloppy defence,
Is a hanging offence.
The bidding’s no less than a sin.
One week we broke the club record.
The lowest percentage for years.
I bit my nails in frustration.
My partner was almost in tears.
Then on one magic evening,
All that we did came out right.
The best bids were made
And carefully played
And we came top on the night.
We modestly accepted the congrats,
Enjoying our moment of fame.
Lynn gave me a little blue ticket,
It’s at home on the wall in a frame.
Then there’s that Jack Webster trophy.
I’d like it engraved with my name.
‘til then I’ll just enjoy playing,
After all it’s only a game.