Hate the game, not the player!!

After a week of graft and toil at the Department of Innovation, Industry, Science & Research I decided to let my hair down (figuratively speaking) so hence made my way to our fortnightly happy hour at the 'Patterson’s Curse' function room Industry House to knock the edges off the week that was.

Knocking the froth off a few local ales, the Jolly Joker was announced and whilst disappointed not to hear my numbers called, my dismay was dissipated when I realised the $250 cash reward was going to an attractive Maltese Philly out the Resources Energy & Tourism stable. Lucianne was her name... I imagined her first name was to be pronounced to match her exotic looks, something like *Lu-chi-ahn* that I could imagine rolling off a Salma Hayek tongue... unfortunately in reality it had a distinctly Australian twang *Lucy-Anne* more suited to the droll of a Kath and Kim.

Two beers in I went in search of ANU talisman and all round good guy Bryn Evans to join me in my round, on my way to his office I spotted the Philly (Lucy-Anne) heading in the wrong direction. After a formal introduction and brief chat I guided her down the home strait to collect her riches.

Collecting my stable mate we headed back to the fashions of the fields, an entertaining evening was looking promising. Bryn introduced me to a very attractive lesbian (let’s face it most of them are doing us a service by taking care of each other) colleague who shared our unbridled enthusiasm for the fairer sex. Whilst it was unfortunate she didn’t bat for our team she was able to offer invaluable advice. It was almost unfair, it was like having your very own how-to-manual in picking up chicks, being part of the gender which leaves most men scratching their heads she had incredible insight we tapped into.

To add to the excitement an ex-flame and the love of my life to date was also observing the hour of happiness between throwing me filthy sideways glances between drinks and was accompanied by her recently acquired husband.

However, I was too busy enjoying free drinks, teasing and flirting up a storm to care. In-between chatting to the princess of Malta I received tutelage and words of encouragement from the helpful les-be-friend.

Sadly the boozed up DIISR staff had drunk the bar dry so we were ushered out the door and made our way to Knights Bridge wine bar. For those of you who haven’t been there, it is a dimly lit hang out for young to middle aged pretentious public servants. Lines such as ' Fiscal policy, robust action and touch base' are thrown about by a bunch of hubristic wankers.... which made it the perfect setting for my next move.

After cracking joke after joke duly greeted which cheers of laughter (I had my Mojo on) to say I was optimistic about my chances would be an understatement. When thirst was upon us once again I thought it was about time I entered the shout for the first time, scanning the menu for refreshment I glanced to the left only to see the 'ex' enter the premise. Naturally I was greeted with the now familiar look of distain this time followed with the double head flick and sigh in disgust.

I returned to the group explaining the predicament to my lady companion, she suggested a kiss on the cheek might have the benefit of showing I had no residual feelings and possibly creating a glimmer of jealousy (probably not).. being ever the opportunist I pressed that one on the lips would be more convincing, as I moved in for the kill. More flirting ensued and after a wink of approval from the lessie, I moved outside to celebrate what I envisaged a lay down (literally) mazaire..

I thought I would take the opportunity to bask in the glory of what could potentially be the most enjoyable evening of my existence (not only picking up one of the hottest birds in the Department but in front of my ex girl and her chest thumping husband) by having a celebratory cigarette.

I strutted my way back towards the pack confident of taking the philly back to my home stable, just as I was about to turn to suggest we exit the bar and head back to my place to hit the hay, I caught the eye of my lesbian tutor. Just as I was about to thank her for her timely advice she abruptly interrupted me to inform of my weakening grasp. When I interrogated her on the topic, she told me there was a suitor playing cards tricks. As I turned & spotted my rival I looked pitifully at his pathetic attempt to cut grass, I took half a step to gather my damsel in distress only to catch a glimpse of her AB-SOLUTEL-Y spell bound face by this clearly manufactured attempt at a pick up.

She was COM-PLETE-LY enamored by this (admittedly relatively charming and not entirely ugly looking) David Copperfield wannabe!!

I was like a boxer knocked down by a Lottery punch.. after a night of dancing, skipping and prancing around the ring picking apart my prey with crisp left jabs and brutal right hooks, I had suddenly been floored by a ferocious uppercut right on the chin.

I was out on my feet and given the standing 8 count, quickly I retreated to my corner punch drunk a mere spectator as 'Coppers' worked his magic. After being patched up and receiving words of encouragement from my dutiful corner I made my way back in somewhat wobbly condition into the firing line. After all night masterfully cutting the ring with superb footwork and lightning quick wit I was a mere shell of my former self.

I had gone from sharp wit to desperation; it was with a foggy head and poor judgment I resorted to throwing Hail Mary's in hope of connection. In a last ditch bid in what was quickly becoming a losing battle I threw everything behind this one when delivering the line 'I’m heading home, you coming with?'

The reply sent me to the canvas... 'Sorry I don’t shag workmates'.... I squirted out a thinly veiled attempt at indifference 'Whatev's' before being carried out of the ropes by my support team shaking my head in disbelief at the preceding events (imagine George Foreman after Rumble in the Jungle)

The following day still in a state of shock explaining the night to my cricket mates one piped up with 'ah the old card trick, he must have read 'The Game'. 'The Game'? I pressed... 'Yeah it’s a book on picking up chicks, using body language cues, distracting possible rivals and magic tricks'. 'I knew it, I knew it was manufactured... what kind of flog walks around a night club with a deck of cards in his hands!?'

Now.... where do I get myself a copy of this book!?