Breaking the Seal

 

Good evening. My name’s Jack. And you are?

Delighted to meet you <insert name here>. I’m here doing magic today. Oh! I see you’re drinking! Well that makes my job a little easier. Now, can I interest you in a little trickery?

 

And there you have it. At that point in the night. The “seal is broken”. From then on, everything gets a lot easier. Allow me to explain…

 

Have you ever drunk four pints of cider, without once getting up for a wee? Then you finally give in, and the “seal is broken”. From then on, the night is pretty much sponsored by getting up to empty yourself very regularly. That first wee. That’s “breaking the seal”.

 

OK, maybe that’s just me. Have you ever spent ages lowering yourself into a swimming pool. Tentatively letting the water get past your waist. Then slowly covering your shoulders. Then finally being able to enjoy your time in the water. Once the “seal is broken”, everything gets easier.

 

Anyway, commencing a magic gig is very similar.

 

You have your deck ready. You apply a dab of Norwegian Formula to your fingertips. You perform your lucky shuffle (for card aficionados, my lucky shuffle is a false Hindu, followed by a quick swing cut, injogged overhand, a rifle and a waterfall) and you’re ready to go. But first, the seal has to be broken.

 

You scan the room for the perfect table. No. Not them. Too drunk. I’ll warm up first. No, not the table by the window. Not drunk enough. That couple look too chatty. Don’t want to interrupt them. That couple aren’t talking to each other. Don’t want to pile in half way through a domestic. That table are about to start eating. That table have finished eating, but it looks like they’ve got sticky hands. I don’t care how delicious camembert and onion marmalade are, you’re not touching my cards until you’ve got all remnants of your cheese course off your sticky digits.

 

It’s a minefield. That few minutes of choosing your opening table drags in your head. It’s like lowering yourself into a swimming pool. Or stockpiling cider.

 

But then, you spot them. The perfect opening table. Neither too drunk, too sober, too talkative or too sticky. You grab your deck, click your heels and go for it.

 

Good evening. My name’s Jack. And you are?

 

The seal is broken!

 

On a slightly different note, I bought some Cadbury’s Animal Biscuits the other day. On the back it said, “Do not eat if the seal is broken”. Of all the biscuits inside, I was gutted to find the seal was snapped in two. Absolutely gutted.