Voy Por Ustedes

So the concise account of this evening's effort at Dusk Till Dawn can be summed up in two words: Murphy's Law. For a more detailed account make yourself a cup of cocoa, settle back and we'll begin.

I won't bore you with bad beat stories, but things didn't....no wait, I will bore you with bad beat stories. It's my blog and I'll discuss whatever I choose. I'll even tell you how I may have cracked one off over Delia Smith's recipe page in Woman's Weekly if the mood takes me. Let's hope it doesn't.

So it's a £50 freeze-out; 4,000 starting chips. Not a lot, but 24 minute blinds ought to allow a little latitude for some real play. In reality, it doesn't.

Everyone plays according to the nature of the shitty structured freeze-outs they're used to playing elsewhere so if you don't have your water wings on you get carried off by a tide of donkamatron bets and drown.

So, with the accumulation of chips early doors a necessity I of course fold J-3 from UTG+1 on the first hand only to see a 3-3-9 flop - which I could have seen for 50 chips - with two diamonds, followed of course by the Jack of diamonds and look on with a heavy heart and loosening bowels as a dude with an obvious flush bets out.

Second hand I of course fold 6s-4s from UTG only to see a flop of 3d-5s-7s. Again with subsequent betting which would have seen me bust two players! The worse start to a campaign since Lord Cardigan's horses versus heavy artillery strategy at Balaclava.

I then folded for the next two levels really with not a suited connector or pair coming my way the whole damn time. So at this point I take myself off to the toilet for a consolation poo. And this is where the evening really started to stink, literally and metaphorically.

Now, I'm a chap...I recognise how hard it can be to control the initial spurts of wee and to keep Captain Winky's aim true. So the inordinate amount of piss on the floors surrounding the urinals was par for the course with a few hundred beer drinking poker players mostly from the north in close proximity. Piss on the floor off the cubicles however is unacceptable and piss on the toilet seat is really a criminal offense in my book.

I enter a cubicle for my consolation poo and not only is there piss on the floor, but the seat is soaked also. I'm gagging as we speak. What sort of low life northern monkey was responsible for this days work I think I said out loud. Fair enough you don't want to use one of the ten urinals if you're paranoid about the size of Mr Kanish, but if you are to use a cubicle, put the fucking seat up, or better still, sit down.

If you're at home you can piss in the sink if you want to, but in public, Christ in nappies, take more care. If there is splashage, wipe it up you dirty rancid bastard. I know alot of DTD's patrons are from Yorskhire and some of them clearly won't have even sat on chairs before, but really, I don't think it's asking too much to not behave like a fucking ape on an evening is it? Really people, how inconsiderate do you have to be to do something like that?

So anyway, I choke down the sick rising in my throat and return to the table where I receive shite after shite and wish I was back on the toilet and then I'm out after some silly bastard went and played Aces against me.

Cash tables now and apart from a hand where a dude explained his decision to not bet his set of Jacks was because he felt his opponent had Aces up, (figure that one out) the only hand of note involving me saw me holding pocket threes on a board of Jh-3c-5h. Woo, a set! Finally a ray of hope through the mist of piss and shit.

I bet. One caller. Hoorah! Turn card 5d. Woooot! A full-house, please mateyboy have a flush draw. I bet a wee bit. Mateyboy re-raises!! Hoooorah...he's committed too and all-in we both go. £170 pot.

Mateyboy shows J-6. All's I have to do is dodge a 5 or a Jack. Four outs. River... 5s CUNT CUNT OH DEAR LORD CUNT CUNT OH YOU FUCKING CUNT!

A disappointing evening I think you'll agree. I'm now going to take my frustrations out on a picture of Delia making Quiche Lorraine and getting some eggs and milk all over herself.

Slightly off topic, I saw Michael Greco tonight. He's a tiny foul mouthed chap I can report. Worse than me even. And he was with the nasally and equally Lilliputian 'Greekfish,' who is 4ft 4" if he's an inch.

Talking about Skiing they were. It's daft really, but I always assume people from telly are tall. I'm funny like that. And it might have been someone's dinner, but they seemed to smell a bit like pickled onion monster munch too.

Finally, I think I might start wearing my Tuxedo to poker games. People don't dress fancy enough these days. I might see if I can't change that.

I'm off now to listen to meloncholy songs and stare forlornly out of the window while the kettle boils.

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