Best film ever shirley

My little pony

So unfortunately the plan to conquer Europe yesterday did not come to fruition. Everything's a bit hazy as I think someone must have spiked my lager and Baileys, but I think from the moment I sat down in the wrong seat in the main event, it was always going to be a confused and unsuccessful campaign.

I was in great spirits at the beginning of it all. Arsenal had just dished out a thrashing to Aston Villa and it may have been the tears of joy welling up in my eyes that blurred my vision to an extent that I couldn't read the seat assignment list properly and was then able to mistake Table 17 seat 8 for Table 17 seat 5.

Bizarrely seat 5 was open, so I was unable to identify my error until earlier today when I happened across the seating list on the APAT website. This seat was open because the chap who was meant to be sat their had also sat himself in the wrong seat!

While completely oblivious to this clandestine musical chairs of sorts, my mind was distracted by the comings and goings of the "Pro League" game running simultaneously to the main event. More goings than comings in fact as there were only 6 runners registered as kick-off approached!

I was going to play this game as it still has the added value of a GUKPT seat regardless of the number of runners, but was unable to unregister from the Main Event. So a cunning plan was quickly developed in my thinking head. It was at this point the main deviation from the original grand plan for the weekend occurred.

I contrived to lose half my stack in the first hand I played with a poorly timed bluff. It was 3:05pm, registration for the Pro game closed at 4:20pm Greenwich mean time. The plan was clear, get busy build a stack or go bust. I went bust.

I removed myself from the seat I should never of been sat in in the first place and walked with haste to the proper poker room on the other side of the casino, stopping on the way by the roulette tables for a rest as I was wearing heavy boots and this made me quickly knackered.

Some moments later I had released £250 of your Earth monies from my pocket and was sat down at the Pro League game (pot limit hold 'em this time) and was soon losing chips to what I think was a Turkish man.

I enjoyed this game however and found myself wishing I had played the whole season as Pot Limit Hold 'em is an under-rated discipline in my opinion. When you don't have the all-in shove weapon in your Arsenal you actually have to play poker. This is good stuff if you're playing people who aren't as good as you, but not quite so good if you're the value at the table.

I was the value at the table, but nonetheless if the series survives into season 5 this will be my priority, also because it's a one day event and the two day games are too darn tiring for these old bones these days.

I exited in fairly unspectacular fashion and found myself at the bar soon after. Things became very hazy at this point and I suspect it was around this time that some one began spiking my lager and Baileys.

As I approached the cash tables it was clear I was trollied. What on Earth do they put in their Baileys I asked myself. I definitely tasted a hint of whisky so it was probably that. I exchanged a further £200 of your earth monies and some time later after I'd distributed my chips amongst all and sundry I sat down somewhere and then suddenly Alan was turning into my street and I was home! It was like magic. I was in Coventry, then I was home. Smashing!

At this point though I was in great pain. Whatever people were putting in my lager and Baileys had given me a wicked headache and sapped my strength. In fact it was all I could do to throw off my clothes and launch the contents of my pockets over a wide area in my living room and bedroom before collapsing in bed, still though some how with one boot on.

I will analysis the weekend in great detail when my eye sight fully returns, but to sum up it was simply a case of best laid plans etc etc. It will be important for me to highlight my strengths and weaknesses however if APAT Season 5 is to be anything other than a series of hazy recollections of £500 weekends, ill-timed bluffs and heavy footwear.

What am I doing right? What am I doing badly? Am I too aggressive? Is my bet sizing usually correct for the situation? Was that woman really appalled when I showed her my elephant impression? I think she was already crying when I rolled up on the scene.

All these questions and more will be answered in the coming weeks. In the meantime some soup.

Aircrew cause turbulance

Flight crew of ailing Mexicana airlines have taken it upon themselves to pose for a calendar absolutely jam packed full of sauce to help supplement their wages. And why not? Bravo chicas bravo.

While the selfish bitches from British Airways over here strike because they're only getting 50% more wages than other airlines and don't give a shit about ruining people's holidays, Mexicana air crew simply expose themselves.

We can all learn something from this excellent example of taking responsibility for ones own life. We think everyone owes us a living in this country that's our problem. Just get your tits out and stop whining BA employees, that's what I always say.

La conquista del Europa

So now, well now, so now...big weekend coming up for which I'm currently bulking up on flap jacks and rice pudding and burning the candle at both ends in order to draw up my final plans for the big push - Saturday's conquest of Europe....in Coventry.

I will claim the entire continent for Mexico via a game of poker and finally FINALLY, I will not have to travel to London to find a Mexican restaurant or have to tolerate gay weather men on the BBC and their inaccurate baffling effeminate forecasts..."hello darlings, as you're probably aware brrrr it's a bit chilly out."

Now that's what I'm talking about ¡hot! ¡hot! ¡hot!

Tacos will be available in every town and afternoon naps will become of Royal Decree..the newly installed Mexican Royal family that is....after King Danny Trejo's Coronation which will take place next Saturday afternoon after the slaughtering of the Queen's mangy Corgi's in the morning all of whichare being replaced with King Trejo's Chihauhaus.

King Danny Trejo with one of the Royal Chihuahua's, Tenoch, yesterday

Team work..Old time hockey!

Freakin' me out

In the clink

Ashes tonight woooo! Love the Ashes when the Aussies are hosting as it's on at a reasonable time of the night. Can't stand it when it's in England and you're having to get up and God awful times of the day and can't even keep your eyes open cause the sun gets in 'em. Urghh.

Being English I'm obviously neutral, but I like to pick a team to give myself an interest other than a betting one. For my American readers let me just explain the Ashes. It's contested every two years. Originally it was contested between England and her Majesties penal colony of Australia. Recently though it's become Australia versus an amalgamation of her Majesties other colonies - predominantly South Africa and India, with perhaps an English Captain to boss them about.

I hate South Africans. I think I hate South Africans more than the French. At least the French are cowards and easily defeated. South Africans have a unique gene that makes them remorselessly evil bastards who exist only to cause as much pain and suffering on the rest of the world as is physically and psychologically possible.

They can usually only do this though in the comfort and safety of their own dungeons and purpose built slums. Out in Australia though they'll be out of their comfort zone. If you've ever walked or driven past a prison and felt the harshness and intimidating imposing feel of the place, you'll have an appreciation for how visiting teams feel when they land in Australia.

There's some irony here. "England" prisoners behind their own bars. Aha aha ahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahaha

Er..anyway, I'm backing Australia -1.5 tests on the handicaps 3-1 win or 4-1 will do nicely.

Welcome to Australia

**I've changed my mind betting wise, I've backed England to not win a test at 10/3.

Unprecedented conditions

I heard tell of heavy snow fall last week and by Christ it looks like it's about to happen too. Yet city councils up and down the country will be frantically drawing up plans as we speak to explain why they we're prepared for it all.

Unprecedented volume is one excuse I expect to be brought out early despite what happened last year. Then stuff about how they only have enough salt to grit major roads as they don't usually order salt in November.

Whatever the excuses, we are clearly doomed and I urge you all to stock up on meatballs and sammich making ingredients today...before it's too late.

Going round in circles

Why can't we walk in straight lines?

Dog tired

Lord ha' mercy I'm tired people. These IV antibiotics really mess up my sleeping pattern, which was all over the shop anyway. Usually I have no idea what time it is, but as we speak I'm not 100% on what day it is. I think I've got two more days to go. Or sixty five sleeps in real terms.

When I'm tired like this I can't think at all. Even basic tasks have me scratching my head like an Ape who's just been rooting around in the satchel of some nosy biologist he's just viciously torn to pieces looking for sandwiches and found his iPod.

I made the mistake just now of trying to fully appreciate the genius of Patrick Hughes' reverse perspective art shown in this wee video. I just couldn't grasp it and became angry and started roaring like our Ape friend in the previous paragraph and busted up my living room.

This sort of thing makes me almost believe maybe the human race will have a chance of not de-evolving itself into extinction after all and that in a couple thousand years we won't be the ones in the forests staring bewilderingly at an iPod owned by a Chinese biologist.

While many many Totterington fans are already spawning off-spring without opposable thumbs, fortunately there are still people like Patrick Hughes on this Earth with IQ's large enough to keep our gene pool rich and diverse enough to continue the evolution of the species and compensate for the underclasses from N17 who know only what they read in the Daily Star.

New iPhone

I can't wait till they can make these. Can you? Well, I can't.

Lah-hoo-zer

Serious post today, about how we deal with death. Don't panic people, I'm not about to curl my toes up, just need to get this off my chest (that's a CF pun that is) and since there's nothing on telly I thought I'd do it now.

It's a language issue really. Specifically the kind of language we use when someone has died from an illness - it's usually cancer but I have heard the same choice of words used many times after the passing of CF patients too..it's a response to a death from incurable illnesses really.

The phrase in question is "so and so lost their battle with [insert disease]." This is very unfair on the deathee. By that rationale if everyone who dies from an incurable illness is deemed to have lost their battle, then that makes all of us losers because we're all going to die aren't we.

How does anyone get to win? It's impossible. To win you'd have to defeat the disease, but by definition you can't defeat an incurable disease, so we're all condemned to lose by people who are trying to tactfully and respectfully announce our death.

And why is it necessary to think of life in those terms anyway? Winning and losing? Who decides what constitutes a win? It's a funny old business. If you must see life in these rather simplistic terms - winning and losing ought to be judged on what sort of a life the person led, not on it's inevitable ending.

I myself have never battled against CF even if at a younger rebellious age I thought I was. CF is as much a part of me as anything else..my personality, my sense of humour and my lovely eyes. It has a negative impact on my life, as so do those other things I just mentioned. But it also has had an equally positive impact, one just needs to think a little more abstractly to recognise this. Granted that takes a bit of time, but eventually the bigger picture emerges. It's like those anamorphic pictures that only make sense when you see them from a very specific point of view and then it all becomes clear.

Point is anyway, I live with CF not battle against it.



Now then, the point of this post is if you know me to set people right when the time comes and you happen to hear someone using this depressing and unfair summarising to describe my passing.

Well now, I think that about covers it. Much obliged.

You Toob comment of the day

"Why are the Romulans such bastards? They're always up to something.

Cool Pepsi ads

If the shoe fits

There's an equation men can use to determine the ideal age of their partner...although I'm not sure if it applies to whoopsies as men and women mature at different ages and tend to sag at different times too don't they?

Anyway I digress, the equation for hetro-sexual males is to halve one's age and add one's shoe size. I can't accept this myself however. This could only work for me if I had clowns feet, as this would mean my ideal partner would be 25 and this just wouldn't work.

While it is true in fact that I found myself aroused by a young miss in her early 20's just this afternoon, when I look deep within me I find that I couldn't possibly spend more than two hours with such a typically delicate creature. So fragile emotionally she probably couldn't watch Titanic without crying and would sulk if I hadn't missed her when she'd only been gone twenty minutes to buy some milk and a copy of Hello.

Pert bouncers and a bottom like a couple of boiled eggs in a hankerchief are all well and good, but of course a real relationship requires a deeper attraction and an intimacy beyond that of just sweaty nookie.

Quite apart from the fact that most adults in their twenties in this day and age are educated to the standard of a moldy baguette, they also tend to be optimists with a zest and enthusiasm for life that has yet to be beaten out of them by the cruelness of destiny and the utter futility of life. Well I can't be doing with any of that.

If I were to come out of retirement from this sort of behaviour it would have to be with someone who has at least seen 30. Usually after three decades of exposure to the punishing misery of fate, sufficient cynicism about our way of life will have developed within them to understand how I have become such a miserable bastard and I would not be condemned to engage in that horrific schmaltzy verbal guff women of an earlier age hear on Dawson's Creek and Friends and insist on replicating having mistaken it for intelligent conversation.

Yes yes dear all very sexy, but if you're going to ask me where
our relationship is going I shall have to ask you to leave

Prince William and Kate Middleton to divorce in 2012

Prince William and Kate Middleton are to begin divorce proceedings in 2012 after wedding next summer. While the newspapers and TV media are only just today reporting news of the couple's engagment announced this morning, we here in the cave received news from my prognosticating water vole, who works as a waiter in the Officer's mess at RAF Valley in Anglesey, that the first Royal marriage for ages will terminate after only 14 months.

Ken on his lunch break yesterday

Rumours of the couple's separation will circulate in May 2012 and this will be confirmed by Clarence House when a photograph taken from a tree opposite his three bed semi in Anglesey appears in the News of the World showing the Prince holed up in the spare room watching TV and eating biscuits with crumbs all down his front.

Rumours of a string of affairs since the Prince's RAF career began will circulate as the tabloids seek to uncover the cause of the split. Eventually a statement released on behalf of Kate Middleton will deny any affairs.

"He's just really weird," the statement will read.."plus I thought I was going to be a Princess, but the Queen won't die and being a Duchess sounds so ordinary, especially the Duchess of Cornwall, I mean really, Cornwall!?..Oooooh-ah Oooh-ah, can I 'ave a pint of cider my duck. It's just not what I thought it was going to be like at all."

Nail through the wood trick

Apocalypse later

"NO I shan't do that you silly man": James Blunt ignoring orders in 1999

James Blunt saved the world in 1999 apparently by averting World War III. I don't know whether this is a good thing or not, given how things have turned out post-Bush, but I suppose we must thank him.

A nutty US General who'd clearly watched too many war films ordered him and his troop, backed up by the Parachute Regiment, to attack a bunch of 200 Russian soldiers who had occupied an airfield because he wanted it for himself.

Officer Blunt respectfully declined as he felt NATO forces attacking Russian soldiers might have consequences for the future of man kind. Fortunately the head cheese of the British army General Sir Mike Jackson, who most certainly does not care for the smell of napalm in the morning, was listening in and alarmed by the language being used - "destroy," "attack," "Commie bastards etc" - suggested perhaps just encircling the airfield might be less confrontational and the Russians would then have to "share" the airfield as they would run out of rations in a couple of days.

Thus World war III was averted, phew...however apparently the Parachute Regiment guys were in a foul mood for the rest of the tour. Jolly good show though, I like James Blunt he's a funny chap and good egg, conversely the United States military is a danger to the entire galaxy.

A standard US General yesterday.

Manos de yeso

Once that nonsense in England is over between Audrey whatshername and Daniel Gray they'll be just enough time for a snooze and some rice pudding before some proper boxing commences early doors on Sunday in Dallas Teeeeexas Booooi.

Quite looking forward to this fight. I happen to think that even if Antonio Margarito wraps his hands in plaster of paris again he still won't win. I usually don't like to bet against the Mexicans, but he's a cheating pendejo and half Mercan anyway so I hope he endures a significant battering.

I'm not listening to the Gods on this one. They lied to me earlier. Bastards. I fancy what we'll see here is Margarito knocked out in rounds 9,10 or 11 (priced at 18,15 and 17). He's a big chap with a huge weight advantage so he'll try and knock the wee man out early doors, fail, tire and then collapse under the weight of Pacquiao's punches.

It's really quite simples.

Catch me if you can

I've had a funny old bet today I have. I can't even explain where it came from..somewhere from above is all I've got for you. I was just eating some beef enchiladas and then it suddenly became necessary for me to place a wager.

I can't of course offer any valid reason why we should enjoy any kind of return, but since when has that been necessary to place a bet, that's what I always say. So..the bet is a wee Trixie; I've backed Aston Villa, Totterington and Catch Me to win the Cheltenham thingy.

There's no reason why Villa should be able to beat Manchester United on paper let alone grass if they can only just beat a Blackpool team made up of some lads they found playing football on the beach.

And when you think of motivational speakers Gerrard Houllier doesn't immediately spring to mind having all the exuberance and zest for life of the grim reaper. I especially liked his contradictory pre-match press conference speech yesterday where he highlighted to his players the importance of not giving United too much respect and then went on to describe Ferguson as a genius.

Still, while it's true I've seen people crippled by aggressive cancers with more life in them than Houllier and village idiots making more sense, the Premier League is nothing but unpredictable and I'll never accept that a team playing at home is a 4/1 dog against any other team.

So there.

Come on lads, we can win this we're not dead yet: Houllier at half-time v Blackpool on Wednesday

This horsey bet is just such a random punt I got nothing to say about it. I just happened to be up when the Morning Line was on and so had a quick goosey at the prices for the Gold Cup and Catch Me was the name that stood out.


I'm trusting in the gambling Gods that there's a reason for this other than that they're fucking with me elsewise I've just invested a significant chunk of monies that could have been spent on woolens and other winter clothing.

No accounting for taste

A bunch of chaps at an Irish accountancy firm are in hot water for compiling a "top ten" of new female recruits on the basis of who might provide the best sport. Apparently it's not on according to a stuffy old package from some sort equality organisation who's obviously just jealous as she would have no chance of making the first team herself.

Well it's a sign of the times I suppose. These feminist types are everywhere, all short hair cuts and cardigans, buying their daughters tool boxes for Christmas instead of dolls houses and so on. It's enough to make you weep.

It's tricky to know what to make of this sort of thing, but I'll give it a go. Rather than pick a top ten, for now I'll just exclude the three who don't make the grade; for me they have to be numbers 2, 5 and 6 and I'll explain why if you'll indulge me:

Number 2 is far too orange - usually these fake tans are a sign of a poor complexion and this is usually brought about by eating too much cake...ergo, she'll be fat soon. So ta-tah number 2 run along if you can.

Number 5 looks far too prudish for my tastes. I shouldn't think she'd even give the fire a poke. No wonder accountancy appealed to her. And finally number 6 by gad what a monster! I have an almost phobic inability to adopt the firing position with any strumpet with hands bigger than a chimpanzees. Call me shallow, but it's how I am.

Oh and I think for the record number 11 would be my number 1 as it were. A spot of double-entry with that young filly would be just the ticket to keep the blood circulating on these cold Autumnal evenings what? Tally-ho.

A crushing defeat

I crush your hand

This Jonathon Duhamel fella who's just gone and won the WSOP main event, he's a funny old fella isn't he? I mean all those silly Canadians in Quebec who think they're French are funny, but this dude especially so.

He reminds me of the "crush your head" guy from The Kids in the Hall only slightly more weird. So anyway have you seen it yet? I've spoiled it for you anyway if you haven't. This whole A-7 6-bet shove business..I've run the numbers through my computron and the lab boys have analysed the data and the conclusions are that he shouldn't have done it.

These t'internet whipper-snappers just can't wait to get up in the morning to 6-bet someone. Calm down that's why I always say. The boy Cheong was the best player at that table, but he's gone and ruined his chances of poker immortality by being unable to not 6-bet a French Canadian.

There's a lesson in this for all of us; When you're up against a French Canadian Peachy, if at first you don't succeed, by all means try again, but then fold...fold like young Ochi Kasinowi, reigning professional origami champion 2010 and three time winner of the Japanese envelope filling championships. And of course, this applies to all walks of life, not just poker..I'm just not sure how.

Aaaaargh raise you, you Mercan pig dog

Awwww pwetty

November rain

It's cold, it's wet, it's November so that must mean I'm due to come over all wheezy and so it has come to pass.

Unfortunately I landed myself in the big house this morning as rather poor occurrences occurred chestually. If I was a contestant on the Apprentice I'd describe my situation as a severe downturn in breathing potential dis-enabling proactive pulmonary oxygen deliverables throughout the cardio-vascular vortals.

In real terms I might piss myself if I cough too hard. This will of course require a couple of weeks of complete rest and relaxation, distinguishable from any other two weeks of my life by the fact that I will have to get up in the mornings, briefly.

I knew I was in for some choppy waters on Saturday at Dusk Till Dawn when the fella two seats to my left announced he had a shocking chest infection. Awesome I thought, 500 people in the building and I have to sit with the one most likely to stir my under-gunge into life and mess me up.

Still, you've got to laugh. The plan is to be in tip top condition just in time to claim my rightful place as European Amateur Poker champion at the end of the month. In the meantime I plan to eat a lot of casseroles.

There may not be too much going on with the blog however, as nothing blogable is likely to occur while I convalesce. I may make some stuff up though if I get bored. Well, chin chin.

Eeek..did someone say chest infection!? Me, looking concerned on Saturday

Weekend plans

I shouldn't think I'll go out this weekend. I've looked outside and it appears to be a bit chilly.

I had considered going to DTD as I am want to do at this time of the month but no, I think I'll stay home and put my feet up or possibly de-box a challenging jigsaw.

Yes that's the ticket; a lovely cup of tea a hot buttered crumpet and a 1000 piece jigsaw of a silly puppy tangled up in a ball of wool or something.

Quixotic pokering

The poker Gods are testing me again. They read my blog entry about standardisation in poker and now they're testing my faith. They're pushing me and I don't like to be pushed.

I explained how I frown upon a lack of imagination and auto-pilot poker and suddenly I find myself at the tables with poker's equivalent of Don Quixote and Captain Chaos.

Now I love the Don Quixotes of this world. I'm all for anyone willing to go toe to toe with a windmill, either literally or metaphorically. The world would be a very dull place indeed without such optimism and lunacy, I just don't want to meet them at the poker tables.

There is of course a fine line between a quixotic approach to the pokers - which perhaps might see one optimistically chasing flushes and other drawing hands - and just a chaotic punting nonsense where folding is only an option when the big hand of ones watch is pointing to an even number and raises are made purely because it sort of seems like the thing to do.

How do we combat such a style? How how? The truth is we can't really. Don Quixote's friends burnt his books and bricked up his library - what's the poker equivalent? Shoving all your stack in and making those draws pay hoping he'll see sense? Even if he does, you've still got Captain Chaos to get through who might call you just because his food is ready and he wants to eat it in peace.

He might call because he has the Ace of spades and it's lucky for him. He'll limp/fold his Ace-Queen to a short stack shove and the very next hand with Ace-ten he'll call your shove even though it's the first hand you've played since the break three hours ago and it's 75% of his stack. And he'll have no explanation for you why he chose to play his brace of Aces that way round.

No, he'll just look at you with glazed eyes and chuckle while raking in the chips with his enormous hands with dirty finger nails, which he'll donk off to all and sundry over the next twenty minutes impervious to your frustrations from sitting their patiently mucking 8-3's for hours in the hope of being dealt two cards which add up to more than 15 before it's too late and busting when one finally arrives.

Meanwhile the Gods keep on pushing you, poking you, prodding you. Testing your faith. Now I know how Job must have felt. I shan't be surprised if I wake up tomorrow covered in boils.