AGAINST THE ODDS:Following abject failure in Foley's fantasy Cheltenham Festival competition, Vinny feels the heat as Angie looks to get on a winner in the 'Come Dine With Me' stakes, writes RODDY L'ESTRANGE
WITH JUST five runners – not even enough for an each-way bet – the field was small and perfectly informed. Emails sent out by Angie had provided details of the time, venue and, crucially, the menu.
It was the second leg of the five-stage Lenten competition involving Angie and four friends in a Clontarf copycat of Come Dine With Me, worth €500 to the winner.
What teed off as an excuse for a bite, a few drinks and some chin-wagging, had morphed into a competitive rumble, one which Angie was taking so seriously that Vinny Fitzpatrick felt it should be renamed Come Whine With Me.
And all because Norma Farquharson, Angie’s doubles partner from Clontarf LTC, had served up a menu to die for of scallops, coddle and apple crumble.
The opening night had set a high standard and a high score too, reckoned Angie, who had given Norma an eight out of 10.
Just like the TV series, the friends were taking it in turn to host. Scores were allotted in secret each evening and the winner would be revealed after a communal last supper on Monday, April 18th, in the splendid Moloughneys restaurant on Vernon Avenue.
Each week everyone, bar the host, chipped in €25 a head to build up the €500 pot.
There were five themed nights: Irish, Indian, Italian, Thai and Spanish and no one was allowed spend more than €100 on ingredients, although alcohol expenditure was limitless, which Vinny thought sensible.
Drawn out second, Angie had sternly addressed the troops – her sleepy-eyed 53-year-old husband, rebellious teenage daughter and snotty 15-month old twins – over breakfast.
“I’m damned if I’m going to be made look like a fool. If I lose, it won’t be through lack of effort. This night has to run like clockwork. Do I make myself clear?” From that moment, Angie had overseen preparations with military precision. She’d parcelled the twins out overnight to her sister, Debbie, and worked Vinny and Emma to the bone.
For Vinny, the hoovering, wiping and painstaking table-setting had been a welcome distraction from the weekend where he’d been the butt of jibes in Foley’s on the back of a wretched Cheltenham Festival.
True, there had been a couple of hits, like Quevega and Big Buck’s but his toddler son Oisín could have picked those two out. His selections had bombed out in the Champion Hurdle (Dunguib), Champion Chase (Golden Silver) and Gold Cup (Kauto Star).
And his luck evaporated in the Foxhunters Chase on a drink-fuelled Friday when his €50 wager on favourite Baby Run came a cropper at the second last where teenage jockey Willie Twiston-Davies had been shot out of the saddle. As Brennie and Macker celebrated backing 33 to 1 outsider Zemsky, Vinny knew where he’d like to have shoved Master Willie’s hyphen.
But the final ignominy came when he’d finished bottom of the Foley’s fantasy Festival table with a paltry three winners out of 27 races and was presented with the yellow silks of Old Man Foley on which was emblazoned “I Had A Macedonia” in memory of the Republic of Ireland’s embarrassment in Skopje back in 1997.
It was a timely reminder that the boys from the Balkans were due in Dublin this Saturday for a Euro qualifier. Vinny was going to have a hefty punt on a draw but that would have to wait.
For the moment, he was cast in his role of Alfred – Batman’s old butler – complete with penguin suit and dickey bow, and he couldn’t afford to screw up.
Vinny was familiar with the guests, some more so than others. Norma Farquharson was in her late 50s, slim as a whippet and impeccably polite.
“You’d never know she packed a howitzer of a serve in those skinny forearms,” thought Vinny.
Gladys Smillie was an ancient bombastic battle-axe, who bore a grudge against Vinny for stealing her thunder one night at Angie’s scrabble club. “Are you the hired help?” she snorted when Vinny opened the hall door with a reverential bow.
Frumpy Sue had known Angie since their Santa Sabina days and then there was Jackie, lusty, leggy and lewd.
Jackie had been rubbing up Vinny since they first crossed paths and, sure enough, it only required a couple of sips of Bombay sapphire gin for the sexual innuendo to flow.
“Vinny, you could be one of the Chippendales dressed like that. Any chance we’ll see your six-pack later? Or have you something else to show us?” she said suggestively.
Vinny ignored Jackie’s flaunting and taunting, content instead to clear the tables and top up glasses – Angie had instructed him to be generous with the wines, except when it came to her. “As host, I can’t afford to get tipsy,” she’d warned.
Like all good butlers, Vinny didn’t engage in conversation above the bare minimum and steadfastly refused to engage in eye contact with Jackie.
He felt the evening was a winner and Angie’s menu had being a sure-fire hit. Already he was looking forward to a supper of chickpea fritters with yoghurt and mint dressing, monkfish curry with toasted coconut and a lime and mango mousse dessert.
Meanwhile, inside the dining room, the ladies were letting their hair down as the Gewurtztraminer flowed.
It was Jackie who lobbed in the curve ball. “Right girls, for some fun, why don’t we list our private male fantasies? They can be anybody, from any time, past or present. Angie, you go first.”
Angie reached for her glass, which was empty and thought for a bit. “This won’t be going further than the table, right? Okay, here goes. George Clooney, Mick McCarthy and Gerry Fleming, the TV weatherman – his wink gives me a shiver.” After a surfeit of sniggers, next up was nice Norma. “Bjorn Borg, Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal. They can serve to me any time,” she giggled.
The gorgon Gladys went for Richard Whitely, Vincent Browne and Roger Whittaker. “No one said they had to be alive, or under 65,” she sniffed.
Frumpy Sue chose Daniel O’Donnell, Colin Farrell and Ian Dempsey, the latter because “he once asked me for a dance at the Grove disco. Or at least, I think it was him”. That left Jackie, who knocked back her glass and licked her full lips before revealing all. “I love athletes, just thinking of all that toned muscle gets my juices flowing. I’ll tell you who I’d go for. For me, it has to be Tiger Woods, Alan Shearer and Roy Keane,” she said lustily.
At that moment, Vinny arrived with another top-up. “Hey Vinny. Who is your secret favourite?” asked Jackie.
Having heard the names Woods, Shearer and Keane trip off Jackie’s tongue as he entered the room, Vinny answered without hesitation. “Ruby,” he said. “It has to be Ruby.” Around the table there was a stunned silence. Only Jackie remained implacable.
“Well well. So who is this Ruby? Not Ruby Murray, the singer? Not Ruby Wax, the comedienne? And certainly not Ruby from Eastenders. Come come, reveal all.”
Vinny blinked as he felt himself blushing. “She? What do you mean she? There is no she. It’s Ruby,” he stammered. “Ruby Walsh.”
Bets of the week
1pt each-way Hunter Mahan in Arnold Palmer Invitational (25/1, Coral).
2pts Republic of Ireland and Macedonia to draw in Euro qualifier (3/1, Boylesports).
Vinny's Bismarck
2pts Lay Dublin to beat Galway in NHL (6/4, Paddy Power, liability 3pts).
