Hello,
Like every man who has been raised on meat, Bond films and Top Gear repeats on Dave, I have, at some point in my adolescence, convinced myself that I should become a professional poker player. This, like my other, similar ideas – fighter pilot; day trader; international super spy – fizzled after a few days when I realised that it took more hard work than I was prepared to do.
But this weekend, as I headed to London to attend Monica’s Casino Royale themed birthday party, I hoped that the insights I had picked up in all those youtube tutorials would instil within me a subconscious ability to read minds, calculate odds and win big.
It all went down after hours in the cafe Monica works at. There were about a dozen or so guests at this très exclusive game. Prosecco was flowing. The ‘Casino Royale’ dress code had yielded a range of results: LBDs, shirts, sunglasses. But Conrad’s Las Vegas high roller outfit put us all to shame.
Unfortunately for everyone else, just minutes before the game started he worked out that the reflection in his sunglasses glasses would show us what cards he was holding.
At this point, I planned to give a thrilling run down of how the game went down. In fact, I spent the past few minutes attempting to write just that. Turns out it’s not very interesting, especially when I can’t really remember the hands played. I now understand why they needed to chuck in those exciting mid-game action sequences when they play poker in Casino Royale.
All I’ll say is this. There was sixty quid in the pot, and after a few hours, 12 players had been whittled down to 2: Tom and Monica. To keep it fun, we suggested 1 final round: blind, all in. Each player got their two cards and without looking at them, shoved their chips into the middle. The flop flopped. People gasped theatrically. The turn was dealt. People gasped again, but quieter this time. The river flowed. People gasped very loudly indeed. Tom’s cards were turned over… Nothing. Monica’s cards were turned over… A pair of aces. The birthday girl was the champion! Wahey!!
As for my performance? Well, let’s just say I shouldn’t give up my day job just yet.
Wait, what is my day job again? Something to do with cycling in Greece, if I remember rightly. It all seems like a distant memory. I have now been in the UK for a month. How long a time lies in one little word!
There are so many reasons I’d rather be in Greece, but this week, a new reason emerged: living out of a suitcase is playing havoc with my ingenious sock system. For those of you that haven’t already had the pleasure of learning about this, it works thusly: I have 30 identical socks. So instead of wasting my life pairing different socks, I just pull em off the line and pair any sock with any other sock. It knocks minutes off, and means that I only ever have 1 odd sock. Clever right? Yeah.
But for the socks to all be compatible with each other, they need to wear out evenly. I’m here in England with only 10 of the 30 socks. Every 5 days, these 10 socks are getting worn and washed. They have now been through this cycle 6 times. That’s enough wear and tear to alter the feel of the socks, and as a result, ⅓ of my sock stock is now different from the remaining 20. Where once they were taut, they are saggy. Where once they were soft, they are crusty. Where once they were fluffy and plump, they are wearing thin. It’s a disaster.
I’ve decided that as soon as I get back to Greece, I’m benching these 10 socks until the remaining 20 have had similar wear. For now, I’m triaging the situation by wearing sandals as much as I can.
As you can tell, I’ve currently got far too much time on my hands. Please entertain me with news and stories from your life.
Love
James
