I don't know about you, but watching The Wizard of Oz as a small child back in the 1970s did something to my brain.
You may be thinking, is that what turned him into a raving addy unable to stop betting even when his old Grandad dressed up as the Wizard of Oz, hid behind a curtain, and used a voice machine to try and convince him of a more conscientious road to wander.
Instead, he went astray with the flying monkeys and dated a green-faced witch who was teetotal and wouldn't even take a sip of water.
I wonder what happened to her?
Where would the Tin Man, Cowardly Lion, Scarecrow, and Dorothy (not forgetting little Toto) be without following the yellow brick road?
I'm sure if it had been a green road it would have led straight to Paddy Power, in Ireland, next to a Leprechaun who ate four-leaved clover.
L. Frank Baum's masterpiece, released in 1939, is still a wonderful film, and the book: The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (1900) is even better.
One Christmas, I heard someone say they were bored with watching The Wizard of Oz.
I never looked upon the person in the same way again.
I was horrified.
But getting back to my brain and fascination with emeralds. I think, like a child playing in the dirt, some emerald dust must have entered my bloodstream and become part of my biochemistry.
My nervous system, synapses, and neurotransmitters are triggered when I see a real emerald and it bestows luck on the wearer of the ring and myself.
Instead of dopamine, I've got emeraldamine in my grey matter.
At the casino, you often see a gentleman wearing a ring on his little finger. Not too many, but one every so often.
I'm looking for the man with the emerald ring.
As yet, this elusive soul has been nowhere to be seen.
It's not one of these clean emeralds, it has those misty-looking things with opacity.
The day I see a man wearing such a ring at the casino I'm betting on the same number on the roulette and something tells me I'll be a winner.
Our last post was this: Lady Luck - Great Yarmouth Style