Wigan Wheels

The funniest man in the World is my mate Jamie.

At Polytechnic in London, where we met, he was on the bus that took students to the Underground station. An American exchange student Gordy got on the bus in full national costume; Timberlands, knee length shorts, plaid shirt, baseball hat, ray-bans & small backpack.

Jamie asked him in his friendly Sheffield accent, "Off to Buckingham Palace Gordon?"

Gordon still hasn't forgiven him.

Years later Jamie was deep in debt from his student days so he did what any wise Yorkshireman would do.... and bought a second hand Maserati in Wigan. He informed me that this was a sound financial investment as it would help him in his search for a wife. "I've had the front strengthened, as the women keep bouncing off it."

I made a deal with Jim. I would lend him several thousand pounds on the condition that he sell the motor. He reluctantly agreed. The next time we met he arrived in a Nissan Micra, "me Uncle died & I inherited it" was his explanation for the sexy new wheels.

I thought that this was the end of the Wigan Maserati tale but there was more. Much more.

A couple of years later James was working in New York... still searching for a bride. He left me for a couple of days while he went to Las Vegas for a conference. Being a fiscally prudent person he told me that he'd read a book & knew how to beat the casinos. He even left me the book. I read it.

Apparently if you have a team of mathematically gifted MIT students you can count the cards & work out the statistical probability at Blackjack. With massive financial backing you can play knowing when the deck of cards is in your favour. Over time you will beat the system. A single Yorkshireman from Middlesex Poly isn't able to repeat this trick. Jamie lost $500.

But while he was away a female friend of Jim's arrived & told me the final installment of the Wigan Wheels. James had sold said Motor to a gentlemen in one of the less salubrious parts of London who went by the name of Saddam Osama Gaddafi or similar.

A friend of Jim's heard about this & decided this was ripe for exploitation. He called Jamie and pretended to be Mr. Hussein, the new owner of the fine Italian car. Jamie's flatmate took the call. Jamie's friend said that there were problems with the car. Jamie told her to tell him that he wasn't in.

But then Jim realised that he couldn't hide so he called the real Mr.Hussein. He got his answering machine, so Jamie left a message saying that he was sorry for the problems & that he would sort it out.

Then Jamie's friend called back to say that he was winding Jamie up before.

And then, inevitably, the real Mr. Hussein called asking why Jamie had left a message about "problems with the car"

As my father always said... never buy a second hand Italian Sports car in Lancashire & sell it to a Muslim in the East End.