When the chips are down

Nobody cares how you address a Duke any more. Nobody minds which fork you use, nobody gasps if you wear pearls before six, and 'Elbows on the table!' is less likely to be a reproach from your mum than an invitation from Hannibal Lecter. But, in a world where codes of behaviour are ever declining, the island of poker retains a surprisingly strong sense of etiquette.

It may apply to the practicalities (burning a card, offering a cut) and it varies from place to place. You might offer the cut to your left or your right, and some people cut twice for luck. But in some quarters, if a man cuts the deck more than once with both hands, he'll be thrown out for cheating. So, like consulting Debretts before dining at Sandringham, it's best to familiarise yourself with local custom in advance.

In English casinos, for example, it's illegal to say anything about your hand during the betting. But Americans do nothing else. Many a visiting Yank has been scuppered by this alien rule, discussing his cards (or someone else's) and suddenly finding himself banned from betting again.

The legendary Amarillo Slim once fell foul of our no-discussion law, which he described as 'the toughest etiquette lesson

I ever learned, in merry England where they really do play like gentlemen'. Slim had been obliged to forfeit a big pot after attempting to raise someone's bet with the charming expression: 'I think I got this cat. Let's introduce him to Mr. More'.

The simple line 'I got this cat' was inter preted as a statement about the quality of his hand and, therefore, illegal. I've even seen a man obliged to stop betting after making the joke I must have heard at least a million times: winking at me over the table and saying, 'I reckon you've got a big pair.' Well done, my friend. Now you aren't allowed to bet any more. Like Lola Ferrari, my breasts are my fortune.

Then there are ways of treating the dealer. Tipping is banned in Britain, but allowed almost everywhere else. Shouting at the dealer is illegal nowhere, horrible anywhere, and visible everywhere. I hate to hear the poor croupier taking abuse, but of course it's frustrating when a costly pot is ruined by a misdeal or an accidentally exposed hand. All gamblers hate it. In the Regency card-room once, I shouted at a man for shouting at the dealer. I was then shouted at by everyone.

They draw the line, however, at anything physical. Throwing your cards at the dealer is deeply frowned upon, and former world champion Puggy Pearson was banned for life from the Four Queens in Vegas for actually slapping a dealer. You can scream at them all you like; if you touch one, they'll turf you out.

But, as in real life, the trickier forms of etiquette relate to general demeanour rather than specific rules. The late David Spanier once asked: 'What constitutes vulgarity in gambling? It's akin to bravery or cowardice in battle... it's a certain way of acting. You smile when you lose and con gratulate the winner who beat you. Not playing like McEnroe plays tennis.' Amarillo Slim feels the same way: 'You've seen people who get mad as hell, tear up or throw the cards or throw a little dog, like The Lawyer did when I beat him. Those kind of tantrums are definitely a no-no. I don't believe in squeaking if you lose.'

You see the worst temper tantrums when people are 'out-drawn'. They make a big bet with the winning hand; somebody calls with a losing hand, but unexpectedly improves with the next card: hits the middle pin that makes a straight, perhaps. Statistically it was a bad call, but chance gave them a victory. The loser will shout: 'How could you make that call! Are you mad?' but not, perhaps, in such polite terms.

Some folk even give what's called 'the rub-down' if they've won the hand: 'How could you call? You were obviously losing!' Of all bad poker etiquette, this is the most prevalent example.

But I've just come back from the Aviation Club in Paris, where they don't do any of this. They may not be known as the politest race, but they're a nation of Cary Grants at the poker table. Nobody criticises anyone for playing badly. The result? No Frenchman is embarrassed to play badly.

A flush, straight and full house will be possible on the flop: Didier from Provence will call throughout with a pair of twos. He'll lose, and nobody will say anything. So he keeps doing it. Occasionally he makes a bad call to hit an unlikely middle pin and he hits it: nobody complains. So he keeps doing it. And next time he doesn't hit. That's why gambling in Paris is like picking apples off trees. Your mother was right: good manners do pay. I won £1000 in two days.