BEARDED country-and-western legend Kenny Rogers throatily pronounced in 'The Gambler' in 1978: "You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, and know when to run." He was probably referring to ne'er-do-wells winning and losing small fortunes at poker, but I find the advice remains just as pertinent when playing Animal Snap with my two sons during a caravan holiday.
If you ever find yourself trapped with a live-wire five-year-old and his ADHD-addled three-year-old brother in a gale-lashed, sleet-ravaged three-berther during a school break in the Scottish spring, you'll soon discover that the dual threats of infa
nticide and fratricide are seldom more than a misplayed monkey or dropped dromedary away.
The stakes are high, as elephants and hippos are placed atop giraffes and rhinoceri. I imagine a similar level of intensity is experienced by players of No Limit Texas Hold 'Em in downtown Vegas casinos as they move their stacks of chips to the middle of the table and announce, "All in."
Invariably during our Animal Snap games, one grubby little mitt will thump down on the discarded pack quicker than another and the game will end in floods of tears, scattered cards and the fatal collapse of the flimsy caravan table. The most sleep-starved player will then throw an elaborate tantrum and be dispatched early to beddy-byes – and more often than not, it's me.
On the whole, though, the rest of the holiday was a hoot. We lads did our mini male-bonding thing – foraging for food (well, going to the chippy every night), drinking heavily ("Can we have another Fruit Shoot?") and talking about women ("Can we phone Mummy?"). Meanwhile, my wife and one-year-old daughter stayed at home, lit a lantern in the window and pined for our safe return… I imagine.
Even when we finally did make it back to civilisation, wanderlust was still coursing through the boys' veins, so we threw caution to the wind and pitched up at Waverley station. At the ticket office, we discovered the delights of the 'Family Funday' (a contradiction in terms, some might say). The princely sum of £2.20 gave the three of us a ticket out of Palookaville – or, to be more accurate, a day return to Haymarket. It may be only a total of four minutes from departure to arrival, and admittedly most of the trip is in total darkness, but when you're a kid with a fertile imagination and a thirst for adventure, truly the joy is not in the arriving, but in the journey.
• Andrew Hoyle is Scotland on Sunday's assistant chief sub-editor
The full article contains 457 words and appears in Scotland On Sunday newspaper.
