Low life
Standing joke
Jeffrey Bernard
Iwas eating my weekly intake of chicken in orange sauce in the King the other day when Christine, the lovely lady from Hong Kong who owns the place, came over to join me at my table as she often does. After the usual pleasantries she leaned forward and said, 'I bet you £500 that you couldn't get an erection in a sauna.' Now of all the things that have crossed this restless mind over the years the possibility of that event is something that I have never considered. A natural punter, I pondered the challenge as I polished off the mixed vegetables. I reflected that I have been in states of con- siderable excitement in equatorial condi- tions from Mombasa to Bangkok and from the Nile to Singapore, but it also occurred to me that the Chinese, as a general rule, do not back outsiders. She must 'know something', as they say in racing.
Anyway, whether or not to pick up the gauntlet she had thrown down? I thought about it for most of the afternoon as I sat sipping vodkas in the Groucho Club with what must have been a slightly glazed look about the eyes. Sibelius almost certainly got it up before he went rollabout in the snow and if dear old Sean Kenny, the stage designer, were alive today he could earn himself an easy £500. Saunas were, in fact, his downfall. The last time I saw Sean was the occasion when we were both staying the weekend in Kevin McClory's rather posh house just outside Dublin. That was equipped with a sauna and you couldn't keep Sean out of it for long. But what amazed me was that he not only took his girlfriend into the steaming coals but also a bottle of whisky. Old Bushmills, I think, but her name escapes me. I warned him what the combination of the two could do to his heart but he laughed it off. About two months later and back in Soho he dropped dead in Shaftesbury Avenue of a heart attack. I doubt he had any regrets when he was met by his maker.
But Christine's bet can wait. What can't wait for much longer is the decision of what to back in the big race at Ascot, the King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Dia- mond Stakes. At the time of writing the Irish favourite, St Jovite, looks to have it at his mercy. I don't trust racing certainties, but I would like to recoup my Wimbledon losses on Monica Seles. Looking for horses to beat 'good things' can be disastrous but it is always tempting. Doctor Devious couldn't get beaten in the Irish Derby and St Jovite spreadeagled the field. If Mon- day's rainstorms are to be repeated then I would take a chance with Sapience. I prob- ably will anyway. His trainer, David Elsworth, is much more than simply the man who trained that chasing legend Desert Orchid. Timeform don't exactly rave about Sapience and he stands at 12-1.
My bookmaker friend who breakfasts in the Bar Italia every day, Alfie Edwards, certainly doesn't rave about my chances•of winning the bet with Christine and I stand, if that is the right word, at 33-1. They say that bookmakers always have the best information and I wonder if Alfie knows something that I don't know. What a dou- ble that would be if it came up. In fact, it would pay 441-1. It could be a heart- stopper, though, if both events had to be determined by photo finishes.
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