This Bogus Poetry

Albums of 2011

2012-01-02T18:55:00.000-08:00

These are my favourite albums of 2011. I'm not saying they are the best, merely the ones I've listened to and enjoyed the most.

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1. Glasvegas - Euphoric /// Heartbreak \\\
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2. PJ Harvey - Let England Shake
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3. Mogwai - Hardcore Will Never Die But You Will
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4. Cold Cave - Cherish The Light Years
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5. True Widow - As High As The Highest Heavens And From The Center To The Circumference Of The Earth
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6. Austra - Feel It Break
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7. Anna Calvi - Anna Calvi
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8. The Horrors - Skying
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9. Zola Jesus - Conatus
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10. EMA - Past Life Martyred Saints
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11. White Lies - Ritual
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12. Chelsea Wolfe - Apokalypsis
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13. Eddie Vedder - Ukelele Songs
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14. WU LYF - Go Tell Fire To The Mountain
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15. Lykke Li - Wounded Rhymes
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And I don't really like the album that much, but this is my favourite single and video of the year

She Wants Revenge - Take the World

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But mostly I've been listening to Tindersticks. Their five disc collection of Claire Denis film scores was released this year. This is Another Night In, which is not part of this collection, but I like this mix with clips from the movie 'The Girl on the Bridge'

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Lest We Forget
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2010: Crystal Castles - II
2009: Manic Street Preachers - Journal For Plague Lovers
2008: Foals - Antidotes
2007: Calvin Harris - I Created Disco
2006: Yeah Yeah Yeah's - Show Your Bones
2005: LCD Soundsystem - LCD Soundsystem
2004: !!! – Louden Up Now
2003: Yeah Yeah Yeah's - Fever to Tell

Austrian scumbags

2011-07-30T17:57:00.000-07:00

I close my eyes.

The aroma of cheap hair gel and cigar smoke fills my nostrils.

I feel my face being scrutinised.

I hear the familiar click clack of poker chips, the drag of a cigarette and then the exhale.

Did he just breathe his cigarette smoke on me on purpose?

I pull the brim of my hat to cover my eyes further, try to remain still and control my breathing.

My opponent is clearly frustrated and I know he is probably going to fold.

I want him to fold. I try not to do anything, even to move.

I don’t want to give him any ideas about making a hero call.

Eventually, after a painfully long time, he folds.

***

I had heard the poker games in Vienna were good, so had travelled to the Austrian capital to investigate. A nine hour train ride with Swedish backpackers later and I was in the suburbs of the Austrian capital.

The Montesino Card Club is located in a very odd leisure complex, the centre piece of which is four large gas cylinders which have been decommissioned and converted for modern use. A couple are apartments and the other two are a shopping/retail complex. The idea is GREAT and the structures look absolutely awesome, but the execution is not the best and the shops inside are an uninspiring mix of drab chainstores and generic restaurants. There is a cool looking tattoo shop though.

The card club is on the other side of the street where is also a table tennis centre where you can hire a table and play, though I see nobody in there the whole three days I am in town. Advertising the poker club are posters promoting the chance to play with several random and most likely awful ‘live pros’ from German speaking countries. Oh and one of Sandra Naujoks.

Playing poker can really bring out the worst in people, myself included, and the players in Vienna were mostly a collection of highly unpleasant individuals. They also weren’t very good at poker.

One evening I got deeply involved in a €2/5 nl Texas Hold’em game into the early hours of the morning. The game had broken down to be played five handed. There was me, three middle aged Austrian guys and a quite tight guy who wasn’t really a factor as I mostly folded every time he entered a pot unless I had a big hand.

Playing shorthanded means you are paying the blinds more often so you have to play more hands. As people’s hand ranges open up, you get into more interesting situations where the skillful player should prevail. My online experience is mostly in 6-max games, so of course I love playing shorthanded at the casino.

I was maintaining my ideal casino persona, aggressive and mute - and had worked my stack up a little when the following hand occurred:

I have €600 in front of me and my nemesis has me covered. An Austrian businessman fish open limps and my bête noire makes it 35 from the small blind, I look down at T9 diamonds and call to take a flop in position. My nemesis is very loose and can have a wide range of hands. I prefer to see a flop rather than bloat the pot and open up the action again for him to put in a further raise. My hand flops very well. By that I mean I will likely hit the flop hard or not at all. I know if I do hit one pair that I am prepared to release the hand and move on. The limper folds.

A note about my nemesis: He clearly fancied himself in the role of table captain. Other players seemed to respect and even be in awe of him a little and he used this to his advantage. He looked remarkably like the character of Reg Hollis from long running ITV police drama The Bill, only with a lot more hair gel and gold jewellery. I could already tell he didn’t like me. We had chatted a little in English and it was apparent that the the Hugh Grant factor* wasn’t going to work on this occasion. He was highly suspicious of my story of being a tourist and stumbling into the card club.

As something of a rules nit, I'd already called the floor on two occasions to get a ruling. This had caused some annoyance amongst my opponents as they were in the main, a bunch of angleshooting scumbags.

Angleshooting is something that I detest at the poker table. I'm a big believer in ettiquette, fairness and playing within the spirit of the game. Secretly I wish I was a 19th century cricketer.

An angleshooter is someone who uses tries to use the grey areas of the rules of the game to their advantage, creating deliberately ambiguous situations that they can exploit. If they have more experience than their opponent, if they know the floorstaff, if they can intimidate their opponent, it is often possible to get away with many things.

This takes advantage of the fact there is not one universal set of rules in poker throughout the world. If they get caught there is always the smile and, 'oh sorry, I made a mistake'. The thing is, most of the time it is really small stuff, and I wonder why people even bother. It's almost as if trying to get away with small-scale cheating is part of the game itself. In my eyes, people who play poker like this are lowlife scum

-- Back to the hand --

The flop is 478 with two diamonds, giving me both a flush draw and an open ended straight draw. A huge flop for my hand.

There is 75 in the pot and ‘Austrian Reg’ leads out for 100. It is an oversized bet, far too big in fact, but I didn’t think it was any indication of the strength of his hand as he had bet on the large side several times since I had sat at the table. The problem with his betsize was that it left me with only one way to play my hand. Folding was clearly not an option and calling was not desirable as he was giving me a bad price and could well bet again on the turn and I would have to fold if I didn’t hit one of my outs. The only choice was to go all in, therefore I would get to see the turn and river for sure. It was a big all in and if ‘Austrian Reg’ has one pair (let's say his hand was Ace Seven), then he might choose to fold and I would get to pick up the pot without needing to hit my draw.

So jam it in his face and go all in for €565 and this is where the evening took an interesting turn. From this moment on Reg refused to talk to me in English and began cursing me under his breath in German. It was clear I had put him in a tough spot and I began to think perhaps he did have a big hand.

At this point I was very relaxed because I really didn't mind either way if he called or folded. I would prefer the fold, because then I pick up the pot uncontested, but I knew that if he did call I would have a tonne of outs and would probably even be a favourite to win the hand.

Eventually Reg called and flipped over two black queens and even though I had ten high, I was a slight favourite as I could hit any diamond, any jack or any six. In a cash game you don't have to turn over your hand when you are all in and on this occasion I chose to keep my hand concealed. Firstly I could muck my hand if I missed my draw to avoid giving away information and secondly if I got there, I would be able to flip up my hand and triumphantly show the winner. (Like I say, being in a casino brings out the worst in you.)

The turn was a nine, giving me even more outs and I got there on the river, flipped over my hand and scooped a sizable pot.

As someone who has played hundreds of thousands of hands online, the way this hand played out is extremely standard. However, Austrian Reg was furious.

I am familiar with the term steaming, but had not even seen someone steam as much as Reg did over the next few hours. He was angry, played with reckless aggression and verbally abused the dealers and other players. He still had the most chips at the table and I saw this as my chance to make my wages for the week and much more besides.

Greed is an ugly feeling to have, but it is one that can't be avoided if one plays poker. It is something I struggle with. Chips are used instead of actual money, but it impossible to divorce the two and if someone has a lot of chips in front of them and is playing badly, well it is a chance for you to take their money (something you should of course want to do). I now wanted to take the rest of the chips that 'Austrian Reg' had on the table and perhaps he had even more cash in his wallet. He was a man, a human being, albeit a seemingly not very nice one with too much hair gel and a penchant for gaudy gold jewellery - but at this moment I tried to think of simply the money in front of him that I could win.

I would like to believe that basically, at heart, I am a nice person - but over the next few hours I was locked into this game and there was no way I was going to leave, I tried to turn off my emotions and simply to take his money. He and the other players at the table were also trying to take my money weren't they? Right?

At this point the layout of the table was such that I was seated at one end in the 'two seat' and the four other players were seated at the other end in seats 6-9. One player decided they would like to have direct position on me and switched to the seat directly to my left. Fair enough. Another player decided they would also like to sit next to me and moved to the seat directly to my right. This made less sense, but it did have the effect of crowding me a little bit. Perhaps they were trying to intimidate me?

'Austrian Reg' took the opportunity to sit directly opposite to me, the perfect position for glaring. For the next few hours he delivered a masterclass in tilt. He entered every single pot I played, threw his cards at the dealer every time he folded and muttered under his breath about my bad play. His mannerisms became more ragged, his actions with chips more pronounced and violent. I concentrated on playing in a measured and sensible way. I managed to hit a few hands and take down some pots by making him fold on the turn or river, thus further adding to his frustration. His stack fluctuated as mine grew, and eventually the delicious site as he reached into his wallet to reload.

The slowroll cometh

It was almost inevitable that he would get me back and so it proved to be the case. His style of playing was highly aggressive, even though he was steaming. This meant that he was going to at some point put me to some tricky decisions. I don't remember the exact details, but I do know that I overplayed my hand somewhat, he suckered me in and I went all in and he called. After the river, as I had made the last aggressive action in the hand, I turned over my cards. He was clearly waiting for this moment.

A pained expression, a furrowed brow and a shake of the head as he stares at the board. Another check of his cards and another furrow of the brow. Then the show to the guy next to him, the classic move, as if to say 'can you believe how bad I run?' But wait! The guy next to him points out that yes indeed, he does have the winning hand! How could he be so stupid, his hand is better than mine. HE HAS WON THE HAND! About thirty seconds after I show my hand, he now shows his better hand and breaks into an enormous lizard grin.

I had been slowrolled in the most epic fashion.

As Reg stacked up the chips from the pot, he took the opportunity to again speak English to me. Ah yes, the classic rubdown to finish it off. "Now we are even" he told me emphatically, "this is what you deserve." It was now my turn to glare.

It seemed with every chip he stacked, his body loosened, his tightness uncoiled and a sense of calm and control returned to his body. It was time for him to light up a cigar.

As for me? Well I was still a winner for the evening but the game was looking less enticing. It was getting late, I was getting tired and Reg was almost unstuck. Added to this, a new player took a seat in the game, he was young and seemed fresh and savvy and knew how to handle his chips.

It was time to bank my profit for the evening and bid goodnight to the Austrian scumbags.

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I find myself increasingly wondering if I want to spend any more of my life sitting around a smoky table with a collection of unpleasant individuals. As online poker continues to seemingly unravel and collapse, it appears that if I'm going to continue playing, then it will be necessary for me to play more in casinos rather than have the shield of my computer screen. I'm not sure that is something I want to do, but that is a post for another day.

*The Hugh Grant Factor has served me well dealing with official people and cocktail waitresses in the USA. In a smoky Austrian cardroom it was less effective

Let Lisbon shake

2011-06-27T13:05:00.001-07:00

Recently I saw PJ Harvey play in Lisbon, Portugal. It was a most excellent show.

Having been unable to secure tickets for London (sold out) and Berlin (German bureaucracy), I had resigned myself to not seeing PJ Harvey on this tour. When a show in Portugal was announced, I logged on and checked the seating plan. It was mostly sold, but there was one seat free on its own, centre 4th row. Well it would have been churlish not to buy it.

The venue was great. On the university complex, the theatre was a beautiful Art Deco building constructed during the era of right wing control of the country, as it seemed did most of the buildings in the university.

Firstly I must comment on the high quality selection of pastries behind the bar inside (you wouldn't get that at the Academy), next on the reasonably priced beer, drank in very small glasses as elsewhere in Lisbon. My seat was more of an armchair, with a great view of the stage. The venue even had wifi, so I sent some email whilst waiting for the show to start.

For this tour, Polly Harvey was joined by long-term collaborators Mick Harvey and John Parish, as well as Jean Marc Butty on drums. It was an impressive line up of accomplished musicians and they produced a wonderful show. Of course drawing heavily on material from latest album 'Let England Shake', there were some good choices of old favourites.

The reaction of the crowd was interesting. A lot more muted than at a UK show but extremely warm and passionate. Respectful. Reverant.

Polly used an autoharp on several songs, which is an instrument that I can't quite work out but intrigues me all the same.

I really enjoyed the show and Lisbon as a whole. A most captivating city!

Full house

2011-04-05T16:51:00.001-07:00

Swedish poker players are the amongst the most fearsome opponents in the world. It seems that in the realm of apartment hunting, they are also not to be messed with.

My search for an apartment has taken me all over the city of Berlin. From the working class district of Wedding, where I wanted to rent a studio where the shower was in the kitchen, but was passed over in favour of a Brazilian lesbian couple. To the quiet streets of Kreuzkoelln, where I was very much into an apartment next door to a sex shop, belonging to an Irish roller derby girl - but sadly she chose to rent it to her friend.

One recent sojourn took me to the south side of Neukoelln - Berlin's Turkish district. The renter this time was an abrasive Irishman called Niall, who was going travelling and then moving to a different area of Berlin. The bonus for me with this one, was that he said he would make an introduction to his landlord, so that when his lease ends in June it can be taken over.

I was into that idea, so I took the train down to meet him at 7:15pm. Arriving a little early, I wandered around the neighbourhood in the early evening drizzle. It was quiet and residential with little of interest there. As I skulked about the area, I spotted an official looking man with a Manila folder doing the same. I wondered what his deal was?

When 7:15 came, I rang the bell with no answer. After trying again, I was about to give up when then man with the folder approached me "Are you Niall?". Then another guy approached and we both asked "Are you Niall?"

When it became clear that none of us were Irish or called Niall, we realised that we had all come to look at the apartment. Niall had triple booked us all and then seemingly not turned up. As the rain increased in ferocity, I was about to cut my losses and move on, when Niall appeared on his bicycle. Slightly dishevelled and apologetic about being late, he ushered us inside.

"Well I'm late but one of you is definitely early" he quipped as we crammed into the hallway and he put his bike away in the basement. Up in his apartment things were no less awkward.

Niall gave us the tour around the compact, unremarkable, but perfectly acceptable apartment. "I've heard rumours that this area of town is rife with drugs, prostitution and gangs" he told us, "and if that's the case, I'm disappointed, because I've not seen any of it and it would make this area a darn site more interesting!"

Nicely done sir, nicely done.

After he gave us the lowdown and a quite funny account of his neighbours, it was time to get down to business. The brusque Irishman wanted to get it all sorted it seemed and was about to leave the country in the next few days. He was all business and very precise about the details, which is exactly what I look for in a sublet.

The four of us stood in a quite cramped circle in his hallway and the awkwardness factor was turned up to 11.

I had been quite frustrated in looking for an apartment in Berlin. Whilst not amazing, this place would probably do me fine, plus I was tired of looking. But what was my move here? I would have to fall back on my poker skills to try and seal the deal on this one.

The American was in early position (by the front door) and was the first to speak. He enquired about the lack of washing machine in the apartment. Niall somewhat unconvincingly told him that the water bills from the washing machine were too big. "I do my laundry every two weeks" he proudly announced. "I just go to the place down the street. It is cheap and takes an hour or two."

My opponent seemed unimpressed by this situation and muttered something about being in touch before stepping outside into the hallway. In other words - he folded preflop. It was now left to me and the Swede to battle it out for the pot.

Next to act, I opened with a raise by telling Niall that I liked the apartment and I would be interested in taking it. The Swede, inscrutable and calculating, called my bet by also informing Niall that he liked the place and would certainly be interested in subletting it from him.

It was time for Niall to deal the flop.

Niall reiterated that he was about to go away and he wanted to get it sorted out. He was looking for someone solid that wouldn't be any trouble to his landlord and that could get the rent and deposit sorted out with in the next couple of days. He again mentioned that he could perhaps arrange possibly taking over the lease when his contract finished at the end of June.

It's fair to say that Niall had dealt quite an action flop there.

First to act, I decided to make a play for the pot. I told Niall that I was living nearby, so it was no problem for me to sort it out in the next few days. I informed him that I would like to sublet for the full two months and that a deposit was also no problem.

Unfortunately, it seemed the Swede was in no mood to be forced out of this pot. Using his positional advantage (by the lounge door and therefore closer to the table where business transactions might take place and further away from the front door), he explained that he had been receiving disability payments after an accident. He then rolled up his shirtsleeve to show a perfectly fine looking wrist.

I eyed him suspiciously.

He continued by adding that he was moving to Berlin because he really liked the city, he was happy that spring was here already (using the weather as a conversational piece - a classic move that I had overlooked on this occasion) and that he would also rent for the full period and had the financial means for this to be no problem.

It was a healthy raise from the Scandinavian and he gave me a sideways look as if to say 'well what are you going to do now then, huh?'

It was time for me to get serious and bring out the big guns. I told Niall that I could sort all of this out with him tomorrow, whenever was convenient. I could pay in cold hard cash and it would be no problem paying the deposit and rent upfront, before he went to Rome. I would be able to move in next week. I could provide references from previous people I had rented from to confirm my reliability. Niall nodded and turned to the Swede. Surely he wouldn't be able to compete with my healthy re-raise?

Cool as a cucumber, the Swede countered my play with ease.

He told Niall that he was currently staying in a hotel and therefore could move in as soon as possible.

Mightily impressive by my Scandinavian opponent, but surely Niall wouldn't give him the apartment just because he would move in first by a few days?

But there was something that I had forgotten in the tension of the negotiation...

~The Manila folder~

The Swede claimed that in the folder were all his documents, bank statements and references that Niall could examine. He also flashed a glance of some money in his trouser pocket, saying he could pay Niall the full amount right now, so he could have it all sorted this evening.

The Swede had made the ultimate move. He'd gone all in.

There was nowhere left for me to go. I'd been defeated by the ultimate Scandinavian weapon. Efficiency.

I made a vague and perfunctory promise to Niall that I would email him in the morning to discuss things. But we both knew the deal was already done and this was to save face on my part.

I hadn't seen the contents of the folder or the full extent of the euro shaped bulge in pocket of my Swedish foe, so he could have been bluffing with a folder full of newspaper clipping and a pocket full of monopoly money. And was the claiming benefits line all some kind of elaborate ruse?

Whether he had a real hand or not, in this uncomfortably cramped hallway he had played his hand strongly and aggressively, leaving me with no way to win the pot. I was faced with only one possible decision.

Stepping out into the stairwell, I bid them both good evening and went on my way.

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Phill: folds
Sw3d30nB3nef1ts78: wins pot uncontested

Rock, paper, scissors pwnage in Yokohama

2011-02-17T08:45:00.000-08:00

I spent three days couchsurfing in Yokohama with Hanna and Atsushi. They proved to be most excellent hosts.

The first night we sat on the floor around a table Japanese style and ate a homecooked meal prepared on a portable stove. But not just any table! Japan seems to be a nation that doesn't understand the term 'central heating' but they compensate for this in several ways. One of the most interesting being a heated table. A small circular table covered by a blanket. Underneath an oasis of warmness! So wrap the blanket around your legs and let the warmth wash over you (Well your legs at least)

The meal was delicious. Sukiyaki - Beef, vegetables and noodles cooked on the stove and then dipped into raw egg. Yum.

I stayed in Hanna and Atsushi's guest room complete with tatami mat, futon and Japanese style slide doors. The apartment was pretty huge by Japanese standards and I felt very comfortable and at home. They were great hosts! We watched some Japanese TV and I was exposed to enka, a traditional style of Japanese singing. This style seemed to involve two key ingredients - blazers and crying. The songs were so emotional that several of the singers were simply overcome and burst into tears, either whilst chatting with the host before they sang, or preferably during the songs themselves. The singers and audience were largely of the 50+ category, with many of the males clad in Alan Partridge style blazers. Back of the net.

The next day it was off to something I was looking forward to a lot. The Ramen Museum! Inside we were straight into an educational talk from a man in a white scientist coat about the history of ramen and how it was made. He frequently quizzed the audience in the manner of a university lecturer testing slightly disinterested pupils. We got to try several of the ingredients that make up ramen and got to see several quite excellent graphs and visual aids. In fact I'd have to say visual aids seem quite an important part of presentation in Japan. Watching the news the evening before with English translations, we got to see a variety of props to help illustrate the erruption of a volcano earlier that day. Several of them were somewhat amateurish in their appearance, but to me that added to the charm.

Downstairs was a couple of fake streets from 1950s Tokyo, complete with sound effects and people in period dress. It was quite a fun diversion, but there was something I was here for.

Must. Eat. Ramen.

Eight different shops from around Japan were represented and you could even buy a small bowl, giving you the stomach space to sample more than one.

First, on Hanna's suggestion, we tried a Miso Ramen. It was my first miso ramen of the trip and I liked the little added kick to the taste. This one also came with some nice spice and was an enjoyable bowl.

Next was onto a bowl from the town of Kawagoe in Saitama. It was somewhat of a coincidence that this shop was represented as I'd visited their main venue the week before. The shop was called Gangya and was run by Japanese rasta guys. I'd visited the shop with Brian, a man who loves ramen and who's knowledge of the food and Japanese food in general is extensive. I'd become a big fan of Brian's Ramen Adventures blog and had mailed him to ask if I could join him for lunch sometime.

The shop in Kawagoe was interesting. It was tiny, seating only 11 people and servied meals in sittings. 11 people gave their order at the door and were then seated. Whilst they were eating, the next 11 gave their order and all went in together when everyone had finished. The popularity of the shop and its small size meant that we waited perhaps 45 minutes to be seated, but it was worth it. I asked Brian to choose and he selected the tsukemen, a bowl of thick noodles that you dip into the broth yourself. This particular broth was extremely fishy and absolutely delicious.

I ate as fast as I could, but I was still the last person to finish in our sitting. As Brian describes on his blog, he had to rush to another part of town to give an English lesson so wolfed his bowl down in record time before running to the train station.

Afterwards I had a chance to wander around Kawagoe and check out some of the old buildings. It had a nice old town with some peaceful temples, graveyards and a wooden tower that reminded me of playing the computer game Age of Empires.

I was delighted to get another chance to try the tsukemen. And whilst not quite as good as I remember the bowl tasting out in Kawagoe, it was still delicious.

Belly full, it was time to think about moving on. In the fake town square, a group of people gathered and standing on the periphery, I was drawn in.

It seems there was some kind of rock, paper scissors championship about to take place. A trophy appeared to be on offer for the winner and I wanted to win it and take it back to Europetown. We were split into three teams. The leader of my team was a homely looking lady in a kind of chef outfit. The two other leaders were a schoolgirl and a scary old clown man. An MC stood on a box directing proceedings and we were away.

I was expecting this thing to be over in a few minutes but it turned into an endurance fest. We went through several rounds of matches trying to gather as many small flags as we could. Occasionally there were double or even triple flag rounds, but I was getting my arse kicked. Hanna later told me that people play rock, paper scissors in Japan from a very young age, so I was clearly at a disadvantage much as a Japanese person would be if they played me at conkers.

I did not win the trophy, but at the end of the game (which probably lasted half hour), I felt like I'd had a physical and mental work out!

One of the things I'd wanted to do on this trip was to visit Cosmoworld - A small theme park in the centre of Yokohama that featured in one of my favourite music videos of all time. Motorcycle Emptiness by the Manic Street Preachers.

Sadly, for a reason that I do not know, the park was closed so I didn't get to have the chance to be a geeky fanboy and try to recreate scenes from the video.

I consoled myself by walking through Chinatown. Yokahama has a pretty large Chinatown and it was cool to take an early evening stroll and enjoy the atmosphere. A TV news crew were filming something there so I snapped a picture.

Later on that evening, Hanna and Atsushi took me to somewhere that I'd have never found myself. The entrance was non-descript. It looked like a garage. Well it was basically a garage.

Inside was a bar, but a bar with a difference. This particular joint was run by two 80 year old ladies and it was a bar serving only one drink - SAKE! And to add to the lack of choice, only one kind of sake was on offer. This was my kind of place!

The premise was simple, you were allowed up to three glasses maximum - which were poured out of a large teapot by the waiter. As you were drinking, you could enjoy snacks - I don't think you got to choose which ones. After three drinks, that was it, you weren't allowed to drink any more. The place also closed at around 10pm. This was responsible drinking and we sat on the tatami, enjoyed our snacks and sake with the business guys and other regular customers. It was pretty awesome and something I will remember fondly from my trip.

Thanks Hanna and Atsushi!

Sweaty Dutch men in latex

2011-02-09T07:16:00.000-08:00

It started normally enough. I met a guy called Ben through Couchsurfing and we got talking about a venue I'd been to called Superdeluxe.

"I'm DJing there in a few weeks. There's some kind of Dutch electronica, it should be interesting..."

The seed was planted and then this morning I remembered it was on. I emailed him and he put me on the door for half price entry. What a nice guy.

I'd been Superdeluxe before, to see a man play a 30 minute improvised organ solo, so I knew this wasn't generally a mainstream venue. Little did I know the delights that were to come though.

Upon arrival it became clear that this was some sort of Dutch cultural showcase, there were people there from the embassy and it appeared that a lot of the acts had been funded in some way by the Dutch government.

First was a rather dry presentation about some kind of interactive 3D virtual art. So far so good and no hint of the oddity that was to follow.

Ben was DJing in between the acts and he was really good, mixing up styles and dropping in samples. I enjoyed his work.

Next was the token Japanese guy for the evening. His act was simple. A backing tape of speed metal, which he shouted and screamed along to for about 25 minutes. It was quite exceptional!

After another DJing slot it was on to the next act. A musical duo with a different. The first guy was on decks and samples, so far so normal. But the second guy had a fluorescent tube light that he had some how rigged up to a set of effects pedals and could produce different sounds by touching different parts of it and touching it to different surfaces. Kind of like an extreme version of a theremin, with added lighting.

It was a pretty cool set and the visuals from the light flicking on and off were also great.

The guy next to me was really into it. A middle aged guy, he looked very Dutch, kind of a Dutch hipster, or a hiijpster if you will. He grooved along to the music, his dancing augmented by excellent choice in knitwear.

Next were a series of very odd videos, but before that a simple summary of Dutch history that is probably not endorsed by the tourist board.

"In the 17th and 18th centuries we were famous for exporting slaves. Now we are famous for drugs"

One video in particular triumphed in the oddness stakes. Several sequences featuring characters from Renaissance artwork hanging out with business guys in suits and skinheads, all drinking and taking lots of drugs. Oh and the soundtrack was a cover version of 'No Limits' by 2Unlimited. As a way of promoting the Netherlands to the population of Tokyo, it was somewhat of an alternative vision.

But the crowning moment of the evening was to come. Somehow I was distracted and didn't see people setting up on stage. Then when Ben the DJ stopped, I saw the middle aged dancing hiijpster guy up there, only now how was wearing what can only be described as a latex jogging suit. The white tennis shoes were a nice touch.

He was joined by another guy in latex and a person of indiscriminate gender in a pink wig, pvc, fishnets and one boot.

The music was an relentless techno/metal mix and latex jogging guy danced like a maniac. To me he resembled Bez from the Happy Mondays, only how he is now, and on a bad acid trip. Oh and in latex obviously.

His male bandmate handled most of the vocals and the pink wigged androgynoid handled samples. Latex jogging guy concentrated on what he did best, very enthusiastic dancing.

The performance was backed by video screens flashing up various images and selection of words that a 13 year old boy might consider dangerous. SEX, GREED, MONEY, FUCK, MURDER

During the course of the set there was lots of writhing around, screaming and the pink wigged lady spanked latex jogging guy with a plastic AK47 assault rifle. Awesome!

The music, if we can describe it as such, was pretty tuneless and bad. But the visual act was something that cannot be adequately described by this humble writer.

To all Dutch taxpayers reading this, I'd like to say thank you for funding my excellent evening of entertainment.

And next time you pay your taxes, think about how 0.0001% will be going towards the cleaning costs for a very sweaty latex jogging suit.

Lost in the supermarket, nasal (rites of) passages and the pensioner police

2011-02-04T05:59:00.000-08:00

I've been a long term critic of supermarkets in Berlin, so it is time to redress the balance. Supermarkets in Japan are awesome!

Mainly I've shopped in 'combini' stores. These are small corner convenience stores that are open either really late or 24 hours a day. In the UK or the US this would probably mean they were stocked with booze, pringles and cigarettes, but here there is a wide variety of food on offer, some of it even fresh and healthy.

My favourite is Lawson, but there are 4 or 5 different chains literally all over Tokyo. For the traveller it is pretty great.

Tokyo blogger Kevin Cooney gives his opinion on 'combinis' below. TokyoCooney is my favourite source of information about Tokyo. He has made tonnes of videos about all aspects of life in the city. Recommended!

In Yokohama I grabbed lunch from as small supermarket and I was pleased with my haul.

Hot weak lemon drink £1

Baked sweet potato cooked on hot coals inside the supermarket £1.20

Tasty sushi with a sachet of soy sauce, pickled cabbage and a dash of wasabi £2.50

Not bad I'd say, but there is a problem. I've read and been told, that it is actually quite rude to eat in the street in Japan. When you are buying most of your food from supermarkets and don't have anywhere to live then this proves to be a problem. I have generally been trying to find a discreet bench on which to munch my bounties, but benches and places to sit down also seem to be sparse.

On this occasion I was able to find a suitable spot and cracked open the hot weak lemon drink (a habit that is eating into my poker profits as I am drinking one bottle of this per hour when I play).

As I eat I observe another Japanese city phenomenon. The pensioner police! This particular guy is wearing a green armband, a peaked cap and some kind of ID badge. I'm not sure what his official role or title is, but it seems he is there to preserve order in this sleepy Yokohama suburb. In this case, order means that making sure the bikes in the bike rack are exactly symmetrical. I have to say that I thought the standard of the bike parking in this rack was quite high in the first place, but it is not good enough for him, and he adjusts several bikes so they are aligned. People generally don't lock up their bikes in many parts of town (with the pensioner police, your cycle is safe!), so he has a free reign to rearrange the cycles at his will, making the streets of Yokohama a better place. I know he instantly clocked me the moment I sat down, and I'm sure he is watching me like a hawk to make sure I don't leave rubbish.

And that isn't as straightforward as it seems, as there are absolutely no trash bins in Tokyo and nobody seems to know why. Some say it is because of terrorism, others because they want people to take their trash home. Some people just shrug at me when I ask. I've walked around for hours, pockets full of rubbish and nowhere to put it.

I have been suffering from a cold the past few days and again have faced another etiquette situation. It seems it is highly rude to blow your nose in public in Japan. I guess this makes sense but it begs the question, what are you supposed to do if you have a cold? I see a lot of people around with the face masks, especially on the subway train and considered getting one. Sadly people only seem to have them in white and I'd prefer black myself.

Instead what I have been doing is going down dark back alleys to blow my nose. The shame of it!

This time I thought I'd found a good secluded spot. I pulled my tissue out of my pocket, took one last glance around to make sure the coast was clear, before letting rip with my nasal excretions. Unfortunately, just at that moment, an old lady walks straight around the corner into my path. The look on her face was priceless. You've heard the phrase 'she looked daggers at me', well in this case it was samurai swords. Horrified! Her expression was akin to her walking around the corner and seeing me defecating onto a picture of the Japanese Royal Family. She hurries off muttering under her breath.

I have no desire to offend anyone, but what's a guy with a cold meant to do in this town?

Of course it is pretty much impossible for me to avoid standing out here. My friend John said he felt like a monster when he was here. I tend to agree. And of course it is impossible to follow every part of Japanese etiquette, no matter how hard I try, but I am thankful to receive a 'gaijin pass' from time to time.

Certainly there is no way I would ever be able to get away with a crime in Japan:

Police chief: "So, we are looking for a tall white guy with long blonde curly hair"
Officer: "Well there are only two people that fit that description in the whole of Japan"
*Shows him the files*
Police chief: "uh huh"
Officer: "I checked the alibi of Thor the Norwegian blues guitarist. He had a show that night"
Chief: "RIGHT! Case solved! Bring Huxley in. We'll show him the error of his noseblowing ways..."
Officer: "No problem Sir. Right after I've given directions to this queue of tourists. Where's my big, red pointy glow in the dark stick?"

A random evening and a very brave dog

2011-01-31T21:49:00.001-08:00

I have been meeting people from Couchsurfing most days here in Tokyo and it has been a real lifesaver. From my experiences so far, Japan is a very difficult society for a foreigner to penetrate. I am constantly aware of my outsider or 'gaijin' status as I tower over everybody on the street and am faced with the language and cultural barriers.

Saturday sounded promising. Someone posted on the messageboard that she was going for a night out and did anyone want to come? Of course I did and she told me to meet her at 8 at the Hachiko statue. It is worth mentioning Hachiko for a moment, as it is not every day that a dog gets a statue in a prime location in the middle of a major city. Hachiko used to meet his owner every day after work at the station. When his owner died at work suddenly one day, Hachiko continued to wait at the station each day for him to return. This lasted for nine years! Very impressive and ranks him up there with Bobbie The Wonderdog of Silverton, OR as one of the bravest dogs of all time, earning him a place as one of the eight most faithful dogs in history. Incidentally I've now seen statues commemorating three of these dogs!

Well our guide for the night couldn't make it, so meeting at Hachiko I found a mute Frenchman (MF) and a seemingly slightly agressive, though friendly Russian girl (SATBFRG) - Not really a recipe for a great night out in Tokyo, but I was determined to press on.

Of course, none of us knew anywhere to go and faced with a wall of indecisiveness, or in the case of the mute Frenchman, a wall of silence - I took the lead and led us to Freshness Burger, where I could enjoy a ginger milk tea and a 'Beans Burger'

Well I only knew one bar, so it was back to the Beat Cafe I had visited the previous weekend. The Beat Cafe is the size of a large cupboard, but we managed to grab a seat at the bar before it completely filled up. In the corner a group of boorish Brits played drinking games and I tried to ignore them. The DJ was an be-hatted older guy who played some great music from his laptop, strongly stipulating - no requests!

As the night progressed I talked to the French guy a little in a mix of English and French. In turns out he's recently been ranover and used his compensation to come to Japan and learn Japansese and he was a very nice guy. That's the second coolest story of what to do with compensation I've heard - The first being my friend Dean who used a chunk of his to buy a load of kickass CDs to donate to his local library.

I was really enjoying myself at the bar, it was packed and fun, and struck up a conversation with two Japanese girls, one of whom who had just flown in from Stockholm that afternoon. A group of Canadian English teachers from Seoul also befriended me and began to buy me a few drinks!

The one unfortunate thing about Tokyo is that it doesn't have 24 hour public transit. It seems quite an omission in a city of this size and dynamism. So approaching 12, people are faced with the decision, go and grab the last train or stay out until the early morning.

Well I was having a great time, so I decided to go for it and stay out for the first time on this trip. MF decided to join me, but SATBFRG, frustrated that I didn't know anywhere else for us to go (I hate being in charge of a night out), and was ignoring her a bit, bailed and went to get her train leaving me with my new 'friends'.

I guess there is a danger when you do this of your night going south and soon the Japanese girls left and the Canadians got progressively drunker. They decided to go to another bar and we followed them. It turns out that Japan were at this moment playing Australia in the Asian Cup final (the equivalent of the European Championships) and we got to the bar just as extra time was starting.

Well Japan grabbed a late winner and the bar went crazy (in a polite Japanese way) - Now somewhat regretting my decision to stay out all night, MF and I hit the streets and found ourselves in the midst of quite hearty celebrations. Awesome!

I was looking for somewhere to hang for the next few hours so set off to find a 'Manga Kissa' - a 24 hour internet cafe where you hire a booth with dvd player, computer and all the comics you could ever want. Oh and the key is it is a darkened room with a very comfy chair, ideal for snoozing. MF and I hit our respective pods and I told him to give me a knock at 6am, before dozing for a few hours.

On the way home there was limited carnage on the streets and the early morning trains were a mix of people going to work and people on their way back from a night out. I slept most of the next day, blowing my plans to go to the Parasite Museum.

À bientôt!

Yanaka

2011-01-30T23:25:00.000-08:00

Most tourists go to Asakusa, but it is actually the area of Yanaka that has the highest concentration of temples in Tokyo. Perhaps it is the fact that they aren't quite as beautiful as the ones in Asakusa, perhaps it is because the area is largely unremarkable and is wedged in between the railway tracks. But during my visit I saw very few other tourists.

Previously I'd picked up a walking tour guide from the central tourist office and planned to follow it. But first, it was time to go to the graveyard. The cemetery in Yanaka is pretty damn huge. Next to it is a temple which I had a look around before going to hang out with some dead people.

Some of the gravestones were pretty massive, standing at around twenty feet high. A tad excessive I'd say!

In the spring this is a prime cherry blossom viewing spot, but now it was a bit barren and chilly. That didn't stop three old guys just hanging out, one of them playing some kind of flute.

On to the temples and shrines and it was cool to just walk around what is mainly a residential area and check them out.

One in particular though, I won't forget. I heard some chanting as I went towards the building and it soon transpired there was some kind of ceremony happening. About 15 guys in suits sat one one side and on the other were the two people conducting things. Of course I don't know the exact words for what was going on, so I will just try and describe.

Well I was mesmerised by what was going on and stayed there, at a respectful distance, for about half hour. It seemed the two guys in robes were blessing each person in turn, there was a very lengthy and precise way of doing this involving chanting, flowers and some kind of font at the back. It was awesome to see.

The whole time I was the only person watching. The area was silent, save for the hum and noise from Nippori railway station below.

Further along, the map took me through the centre of a school where it just happened to be time for sports. Gangs of kids ran around, some sprinting, some doing a long run, some doing press ups and sit ups. There was baseball practice going on, so I watched for a while, being English and all. One kid sat on his own, somewhat disconsolately. I wasn't really sure why or if he was waiting for someone but I did manage to get him to crack a smile.

Then I went on to the shopping area of the district. It seemed quite a working class and old fashioned area, far removed from the neon of Shinjuku and Shibuya. There were lots of stalls selling different types of food and people doing their shopping.

Turning the corner I saw a sign saying 'Tourist Information - English". Wow! I'd hit gold here and I went to enter the building. Sadly it appeared to be closed. As I was about to walk away a guy ran up to me and explained that this shiny new tourist office wasn't open yet - it was actually opening tomorrow! Talk about a bad beat.

All those leaflets and brochures taunted me from behind the glass.

He was very nice though and we chatted for a few minutes about this area and the UK. He gave me a tip as to where to get some sushi, which I ate on a bench enjoying the mix of tast fish and the chilly winter air.

Sunday in Tokyo

2011-01-23T02:38:00.000-08:00

In Tokyo it is statistically more likely you are going to run into a giant pink cat pulling a suitcase, than in any other city in the world. FACT!

Tokyo nights - 7, 8, 9 and 10

2011-01-22T17:34:00.000-08:00

As my sleep schedule has adjusted I've been going out more in the evening. Four nights in a row I went out to different parts of Tokyo to meet people from Couchsurfing.

On Wednesday I meet Yuki in Korea Town and she gives me a tour of the neighbourhood. There is tonnes of merchandise for the latest Korean pop artists that seem to be pretty big over here, as well as the smells from Korean food.

I soon discover Yuki has similar taste in music as me, as well as being a big football fan. She is going over the the UK in March to catch a Premiership match and of all places, she has chosen to spend a few nights staying in West Bromwich. Now I think it is safe to say that West Brom puts Tokyo to shame when it comes to a plate of faggots and peas, but I'm struggling of thinking what else? I'm certainly experiencing cultural differences here in Japan, but I'd love to hear how Yuki gets on with the Black Country accent.

We take a lift to the top of the Tokyo Government Building where you can see great views over the city. On a clear day you can see Mount Fuji and by night the city is illumiated below us.

We eat Japanese pancakes and then go to a meetup with about thirty couchsurfers from all around the world The bar is a kind of lame cowboy theme bar, but the company is good and I hang out for a while and swap travel stories.

Thursday sees me take the train over to Roppongi. This is known as the district where westerners congregate in Tokyo and contains a lot of bars and developments. I meet J Lee and Sumit from couchsurfing and we go for ramen (of course). Next it is on to Superdeluxe to see a man and his organs.

Morgan is an eccentric old British guy who has been playing at the venue every month for the past seven years. His show consists of freestyle improvisation on keys, organ, percussion and vocals - sampled and looped, distorted and made into what is actually a great show! I managed to get about 15 people from Couchsurfing to come to the show and I think they all enjoyed it!

There is no time to stick around and we hotfoot it across town for an English language comedy night. Sadly the venue is a pretty crappy ex-pat bar with overpriced 'English food'. Even more worryingly, as we get there late, there are only tables free at the front, always a danger for a stand up show.

It is a mix of open mic and more established performers and the quality varies wildly. There are a few Japanese guys performing and their mastery of the English language is also variable, however they more than make up for it by the visual style of their humour and sheer unbridled enthusiasm!

Friday night I organise dinner at one of the most famous ramen shops in Tokyo. It is a small joint in the district of Ikebukuro - which translates as 'pond bag'. It's a mixed area, with lots of discount shops, department stores, cafes and slightly ugly urban sprawl. It is not really on the main tourist trail, but it does have one amazing attraction - the fire station.

Ikebukuro Fire Station is home to an interactive museum about dangerous things. You can practice putting out a fire, learn to escape from a smoke filled room, and the reason I was there, experience a force 7 earthquake!

The instructions were all in Japanese of course, but we got to watch a video of what to do before we moved on to a fake dining room. The drill was simple, as soon as you feel a tremor, rush to turn off the cooker, prop open the door and hide under the table with a cushion above your head. The room shook, A LOT! It was even a little scary, but not quite as scary as the formidable Japanese lady shouting instructions at us and telling us what to do!

After that drama it was onwards for some filling ramen. I've learned that the way to tell a good ramen shop is by the size of the queue outside and Mutekiya had a big queue! We waited for about 45 minutes to be seated but it was totally worth it. The big bowl of ramen was delicious and the bonus was sitting at the counter and watching the staff rush around the cramped restaurant.

Next it was off to a traditional Japanese bar or izakaya. The bar itself was really great, with dirt cheap drinks and many tables of drunk Japanese business guys, but this was a bar with a difference.

I've often wondered what the gaming company Sega would do in response to the latest next gen consoles. Well it seems they have decided to respond to Nintendo literally and come up with... well... the wee!

Four bars in Tokyo are being trialled with the latest in gaming, a computer game in the toilet, the twist being that you control the game with your stream of urine!

The game I played was this one here:

There are three others which measure power and accuracy. In one game you compete against the guy who pissed before you and two characters on screen squirt milk out of their nose at each other (!!!!!). Another and slightly more disturbing game is where the more you hit the target, the more the skirt of a schoolgirl like character on screen is raised. So wrong and so very Japansese.

I'm proud to say that I trounced my male drinking companions and posted the highest score. Sadly ladies cannot take part as they are only in the mens toilet.

Saturday night I had instructions to meet at the police box outside Shibuya Station at 6:45pm. We were going to something involving robots, but that is all I knew.

A note about the police in Tokyo. The reality is that there is very little crime here and it is quite possibly the safest capital city in the world. Therefore the complex address system here means that police spend most of their time giving people directions. In every neighbourhood there is a police box with one or two cops and invariably they will spend most of the day handing out maps and showing people the way to various locations.

When we get to the robot place, it becomes apparent that disappointingly there are no robots there, just a photography exhibition with a fun name. Still it was a good exhibition with five photographers having five photos each, taken on the streets of Tokyo. I liked the enthusiasm of the photographers, some who were exhibiting for the first time and the cafe was a cool veggie spot in an interesting neighbourhood.

Next a few of us go to Shibuya and the Beat Cafe - this is basically a Britpop bar in the middle of Tokyo and I really liked it. It is tiny, seating maybe 25 people and you have to go up a non-descript stairwell to get there. But inside it could be 1996 all over again. Repeats of Later with Jools Holland play on the TV, Britpop music is on the stereo and there is all manner or items around the bar. It was a really interesting crowd mix and I will go back for sure.

On an evening out in Tokyo you tend to go home about midnight and get the last train or have to stay out until the first morning train about 5:30am. There are no night buses and taxis are extortionate. What people do when they miss their last train is to go to a manga cafe. Here you get your own little booth with a comfy chair, internet access, snacks and pick of the comics library. You can relax and sleep whilst you wait for sunrise. Some of them even have showers. I've not had to do this yet, but maybe before I leave I will get to experience it.

Tokyo Day Six - Sumo!

2011-01-20T18:35:00.001-08:00

One of the things I really wanted to do when in Japan was to watch some sumo wrestling.

There are six big basho (tournaments) each year, three of them in Tokyo. Fortunately one of them is on right now and I got the chance to go and see it.

Seats at the front are in high demand, but they keep a small amount of back row tickets to sell on each day of the two week event.

Early in the morning I took the trip out to the sumo suburb of Ryogoku and got in line. There actually a lot of foreigners in the queue, probably the most I've seen in one place so far and I chatted to some other Brits whilst we waited for the line to move. Ryogoku is known as sumo town and lots of 'sumo stables' are in the area where the wrestlers live and train. On the way from the subway I walk past a couple of wrestlers on the way to the arena, wearing traditional dress and wooden sandals.

On a large tower outside the arena, a guy sits at the top banging a traditional drum signalling the beginning of the sumo for the day. He plays it again at the end of the day.

From talking to people, it seems that sumo is not as popular right now as it was a few years ago. There have been a few big scandals involving gambling, violence, drugs and organised crime, that led to several top wrestlers being forced out of the sport. Therefore I had no problem getting myself a ticket to see the event.

Starting just before 9, the matches continue all day, beginning with the trainee wrestlers and progressing up the ranks. As the day continues, you can see the improvement in both physique and skill until the top division matches later in the afternoon. Some of the early matches are size mismatches, with one wrestler having bulked up a lot more than the other. However, just occasionally the small guy manages to win which always got a big cheer from the crowd.

For lunch the cafe on the ground floor was serving chanko, a traditional stew eaten by wrestlers in large quantities late at night to help to put on weight. Well as I was in the home of sumo, I considered it rude not to try some and got a small bowl for less than £2.

This particular 'chanko' I found not very tasty at all. The broth watery, the vegetables overcooked and with a lack of any real discernible taste whatsoever. I thought to myself, how do sumo wrestlers manage to eat enough of this to put on enough weight?

After my disappointing lunch I took a stroll around the merch area and checked out the vast range of sumo products available. There is also a sumo museum which educates about the history of the sport.

As for the bouts themselves, before and after each one there are a series of rituals that the referee and both fighters go through before they begin. Plus a guy comes on and sings before each fight. After watching for a while I got into the flow of the way it all worked and sat back with a book, a bit like as if I was at a cricket match.

Most matches were over in less the twenty seconds. Occasionally though, a match lasted longer with both fighters evenly matched and in these matches the crowd really got into it, cheering and shouting and getting quite excited (for Japanese standards at least!)

My favourite part was when the wrestlers were grappling at the edge of the ring and got a bit unsteady. The judges and crowd sit really closely, so there is always a moment when the wrestlers are unbalanced and seem about to fall, when the crowd and judges quickly scatter out of the way! Even better though is when one guy seems certain to lose, but somehow manages to turn the tables and hang in there. These are the most exciting matches of all.

Later in the day, the professional guys in the top two divisions fought and there was a service to hire a radio to listen to English language commentary. Well I have to say that I've never been so entertained as when listening to an Australian man called Gary rambling into the microphone. Gary reeled off endless statistics, talked about the different fighters, their strengths and weaknesses and explained some of the technical terms of the sport. It certainly helped me to understand what was going on. Thanks Gary!

The most famous wrestler at the moment is the Mongonlian, Hakuho. He had a 9-0 record in this tournament and quickly dispatched his opponent.

It was really great to get the chance to watch sumo and I'd certainly recommend it for anyone who visits Japan.

Okonomiyaki (cabbage pancakes)

2011-01-19T20:26:00.000-08:00

There is one kind of Japanese food that as far as I'm aware, has not really made it over to Europe. Okonomiyaki is probably best described as a cabbage pancake, or perhaps pizza. It is a very odd thing indeed. Okonomi means favourites, so I guess you are meant to put all of your favourite things in the mix.

I went to an Okonmiyaki cafe in the Shibuya district. It was a small place with perhaps eight tables. Each table is fitted with a hot plate, a bit like at a Korean or Mongolian BBQ place. The radio pumped out 80s hits and Yuki (my culinary tourguide) and I, got on with the task in hand.

First you start off with your bowl of ingredients. Cabbage, an egg and batter type stuff that you have in tempura. It is customary to have a meat, so I went for pork.

You mix up the ingredients in your bowl and then put them on the hotplate using your mini chisel, creating a patty type structure.

With one side cooked, it is time for the flip, as if you were making an omlette. There is a certain skill involved but I passed with flying colours.

I would say you probably do four or five minutes on each side before it is ready. But wait, here is the strange bit, before you eat it, you need to add some more things. Firstly you spread mayonaise on top. Then you add something which is similar to Worcester sauce. Then finally sprinkle on some finely chopped seaweed

Basically I liked it, the cabbage, egg and meat mix was tasty and I certainly enjoyed the novelty factor of eating a cabbage patty to the soundtrack of New Order. However, the somewhat bizarre mix of Worcester sauce and mayonaise was something that I didn't understand and to me, they really didn't go together. If I had it again, I would choose one OR the other - but I'm not sure if this would be in the full Okonomiyaki spirit.

Tokyo Day Five: More temples, maids and a great view

2011-01-17T13:45:00.000-08:00

Monday morning I wake up at 5:45am to play poker. Sunday is the big day for online poker tournaments and here, 14 hours ahead of the American east coast, that means Monday morning. I grind poker on my netbook whilst drinking a hot can of coffee, today choosing the 'Super Relax Blend' (some may be pleased to know that my obsession with canned coffee is now past its peak) and eating a tasty instant noodle snack.

Poker doesn't go very well today and I finish disappointingly early. It usually happens that way.

After freshening up, I head out to Asakusa, the area I got lost on the way to a few days earlier. This time I take a direct train. This area contains several preserved shrines and temples and is firmly on the tourist trail. The temples are beautiful and I wander around and hang out. It is much warmer today and more pleasant to be outside.

There are several rituals going on which I observe. Firstly people can purify themselves with ladles of water. Then there is a small fire which people add to, creating smoke. People waft the smoke on to parts of their body. Wafting actions vary from the halfhearted, to the intense and concentrated. You have to get the smoke all over you and that includes your legs, face and so on - at least if you are dedicated to it and not just making some half hearted attempt to purify yourself.

There is a street market and I wander around and find a most excellent hat stall. Now I've already discovered that my head is larger than almost any Japanese person, but this shop has it covered with sizes progressing s, m, l, ll, lll and llll. With a trial and error I discover I am lll size and pick out a nice new hat. The old lady running the stall is, well lets say overbearing, hovering an inch behind me and making an audible intake of breath when I take one down from the shelf. She issues me with a piece of crate paper to put in the hats when I try them on and watches very closely to make sure I use it. I make my purchase and head back to take another look at the temples before heading back to the station.

Next stop is Akihabara 'electric town'. This is the place you come to buy every single computer or electrical part you can think of. There are shops dedicated to telescopes, fridges and much much more.

A worrying trend in this neighbourhood is for 'Maid Cafes' I've read about this, and sure enough, on the street every so often there is a girl in some sort of maid style outfit, handing out flyers and trying to tempt you into their establishment. I believe they are just cafes where the staff dress as maids and nothing untoward goes on. Even so, I find it all a little odd and don't partake, with the young girls who dress to look even younger, making me feel more than a little uneasy.

Instead I go on the hunt for food. I've marked down the addresses of a couple of noodle shops I'd like to try, but after pounding the streets for 15 minutes or more, I know they are really close, but I simply can't find them. Finding somewhere specific is so confusing here in Tokyo. I do however find the Post Office which is the only place foreign bank cards work in the ATM machine.

I end up opting for Freshness Burger, one of the most popular Japanese burger chains. Upon entering I spot the guy at the counter swiftly flips the menu over to the English side and he greets me with a cheery "hello". I order a veggie burger, pay and he tells me to "take a seat and I'll bring that shit over to you Sir!". You don't get that in Wetherspoons.

After that it is on to my third and final neighbourhood of the day, Shibuya. Well I don't really go exploring around the area too much, instead I go upstairs from the station to Starbucks, order a smoothie, take a window seat and spend a couple of hours enjoying a panoramic view of THAT pedestrian crossing. It is an awesome view and a great place to people watch to end the day.

Tokyo Day Four: Fish on a stick, hipsters and Phil 'The Power' Taylor-san sleeps easy tonight

2011-01-17T04:54:00.000-08:00

"I just couldn't settle in Italy, it was like living in a foreign country."
- Ian Rush

Not to put too fine a point on it, Japan is very different to the West. It's the things you can't quite put your finger on, the subtleties, as well as the obvious things of course. And when all the minor subtleties add up together, well that's quite major and very obviously something new, intriguing and confusing. Often confusing.

First stop of the day is Setagaya Boro-Ichi flea market. It is a 430 year old festival that only happens twice a year and the write up on the Time Out website promises me all kinds of traditional antiques and a feudal procession. Well if there's one thing worth trekking halfway across Tokyo for it is a feudal procession and I make if over there via three trains and a light rail. At the station I meet Leona from Couchsurfing. She's a Californian who is living in Tokyo, teaching English to Japanese businessmen. She's been here several months and already knew some Japanese before arriving.

We take a walk around the market but in truth it is somewhat of a dissappointment. Not so many antiques and far too much of the usual crap you see at a flea market anywhere in the world. I do manage to pick up some wooly gloves, but it is uncomfortably packed and I'm not having a great time in the crowds. I do get to try a hot non alcoholic sake though, which is quite tasty.

The market is HUGE, but every part of it is packed with people. We scout around most of it, but sadly no feudal procession in sight. Perhaps they found a bargain on a watering can or one of those waving cats.

We adjourn to the food area where Leona buys a fish on a stick and I go for the far less adventurous baked sweet potato, which is delicious.

As Leona heads off to a cafe, I decide to go on to the Shimo-Kitazawa district. I've read it is a kind of interesting area to hang out in. It's quite an annoyingly complex route on public transport, but looks about a mile and a half or so to walk, so I go on foot. My Tokyo street map proves invaluable as I walk down side streets and alleys towards where I want to go. Approaching I see the railway station and cross the tracks, but still no sign of anything dynamic, just a sleepy residential neighbourhood. Then I turn the corner and there they are. Everywhere.

Hipsters!

Suddenly there is a wave of angular haircuts and oversized glasses. It seems this is the hipster place to be. I duck into a number of clothes stalls, but simply cannot find a hat to fit my head, much to the amusement of the babyfaced, too cool for school shop assistants. Chastened, I retreat to a cafe, picking the one which is playing the best music, I take a seat at the window and read my book in the chilly afternoon sun.

Finally for the day I head over to the Shinjuku area. In truth, I'm getting a bit tired now and it is quite cold, but I have not yet been to this area so I go and check it out. It is the busiest train station in Tokyo and therefore one of the busiest in the world. I walk around the area, which is basically downtown Tokyo and immidietly drawn to a large video arcade. The arcade takes up eight floors, each with a theme. One has the grabby cuddly toy games, another has loads of dancing games, driving games and one for pachinko of course. The top two floors are the ones that blow my mind.

Firstly there is a floor dedicated to electronic horse racing. There are several 'courses' in the room, some just one video screens, the rest with little 3d horse and jockey models on rails. The peoploe playing the electronic horse racing games are really into it! The bets seem quite complicated and people cheer or look disgusted as each electronic horse race reaches its climax. I'm fascinated.

The top floor is the killer though. Gangs of teenage boys in groups of four or five are enthusiasticlly playing electronic darts. There are 12 boards in the room, all of them but one in use. From some of the wayward shots, I would wager that the next world champion is not likely to hail from Japan, and if one of these kids was taking part in the World Championships at Lakeside, the darts might well actually end up in the lake. However, the lack of darts skills is more than made up for by the sheer verve and enthusiasm in which these kids throw their arrows.

As commentator Sid Waddell might say:

"There's only one word for that - magic darts"

Tokyo Day 3: Temples, ramen, beer, photography and a minor car accident

2011-01-15T14:30:00.000-08:00

Up early again I head out a little after 7am, this time to Ueno Park. It is in the north east of Tokyo, three stops on the metro from here I'm staying. On the way I grab a bento box for breakfast and eat at the station whilst I wait a few minutes for my train.

I've read in a couple of places that it is the height of rudeness to eat and walk at the same time in Japan, though I have seen a couple of people doing it. There are also signs around that I've seen telling people not to smoke and walk.

The park is beautiful, a big expanse of green in the heart of the city. Even at this hour of the morning there are two guys with clipboards sitting at each entrance, presumably counting the people who come into the park. The park has some activity, with a mix of joggers, dog walkers, old men strolling and a few tourists.

Ueno Park contains several noted museums and a zoo, but I entered at the south end where there are a handful of temples and traditional Japanese buildings. The first one I visit is on an island in the middle of a giant pond, with tall reeds and lots of wildlife around. I visit two more temples and enjoy the architecture and the peacefulness. I believe that these particular temples were largely reconstructed after being bombed during WW2, but it doesn't detract from my enjoyment.

After 9, the park fills up a little, a baseball team practices and crows swoop around. I take a slow stroll out of the park and back towards the station. In the shadow of the railway tracks is a huge, slightly grubby shopping arcade where traders set up for the day. I'm sure later these streets will be packed, but for now it is not so busy.

I plan to visit Asakusa and see some more temples, but I make my first schoolboy error of the trip. I open my map and plot a route from where I am now to where I want to be and start walking. It's a nice stroll and I am enjoying being in the Tokyo streets, but after twenty minutes I figure I should be somewhere close and I have no idea where I am. After some confusion, I recheck my map and realise that the pages I was looking at are two separate maps, there is no join in the middle, so now I had no idea where I was!

Abandoning my plan, instead I duck into the first station I see, scan my Pasmo card (an electronic transport card) and jump on the first train that comes along. It is going to Ebisu, so I dig into my bag and see what the guidebook has to say.

Edisu is home of the Tokyo Photography Museum, so I plan to make that an afternoon stop. It is also the home of Sapporo Breweries and the name of the area actually derives from a brand of beer Yebisu, that was brewed here at the turn of the 20th century.

Arriving in Ebisu, it seems to be an interesting mix of shops and cafes for the middle classes. It is approaching lunchtime and Lonely Planet highly recommends a particular ramen joint. I feel somewhat lame going with LPs recommendation for my first ramen experience, but ordering food can be so confusing that I decide to go with it this time. Trouble is, I cannot for the life of my find this place.

Tokyo street addresses are highly confusing. They don't use the system of a street name and number. Instead it is done in blocks and building numbers - which often don't go in sequential order. Thankfully I'd purchased a Tokyo map before I left the UK, or I'd have been completely screwed. But I am still struggling with pinning down exactly where some things are.

Most ramen places and indeed most restaurants as a whole, are identified only by a Japanese sign and plastic models or photographs of the food outside (a bit like in Benidorm!), along with strips of cloth hanging above the door.

I memorised the Japanese characters I was looking for in the name of my place, but couldn't find it anywhere. Just as I was about to give up hope of finding this particular one, I turn the corner and see a queue of 20 people outside a small building. This is the place!

I wait for about fifteen minutes before I get seated. on the counter next to the kitchen. The restaurant holds about 30 people and the place is frenetic, with staff rushing around all over the place. A basket is provided to put my jacket in and a jug of ice tea is on hand.

There are only 4 or 5 varieties on the menu and each you can add things to. After a little communication, I guess they are used to English speaking people, I go with a light broth. In a couple of minutes, a steaming bowl is placed in front of me with a smile. Thinly sliced slivers of pork float on top, along with chopped spring onions and thin noodles. Fresh garlic is provided in a bowl and I crush some and sprinkle on top.

It smells divine and tastes delicious too. Etiquette dictates that slurping is fine, so I slurp away and enjoy the frenetic atmosphere inside and the chance to warm up. I polish of the bowl all too fast and it leaves me craving more. And at £6 for a big bowl, I'd say it is great value. Next time I vow to try a darker and spicier broth.

It is a short walk to the photography museum which is located in this weird huge shopping/leisure complex. To get there I get to walk on a skywalk, one of those moving platforms you get in airports and Las Vegas!

The museum has three exhibitions on, but the 3d one doesn't interest me, so I just purchase tickets for the two photographic shows. Their themes are 'snapshots' and I spend a pleasant couple of hours enjoying the work of Japanese and international photographers.

By far my favourite is a section by Paul Fusco called RFK Funeral Train. It features pictures taken from the train containin Bobby Kennedy's coffin in New York in 1968. The pictures are stunning, you see the faces of groups of people as the train passes through their neighbourhood and past their homes, cheering, crying, shocked, passive. It's an amazing piece.

Next it is onto the beer museum, which despite my faint hopes, turned out to be decidedly lame. It was free so I can't complain, but the main idea is I guess to get you to buy all kinds of beer themed tat, as well as take part in the 'beer tasting' - which is basically an overpriced bar.

I did get to find out the secret of the success of Yebisu beer that allowed them to get so popular in the early 20th century. Simple. Get the Germans in! German brewers were brought over to Tokyo to master the brewing process and get the right taste!

By now I'm getting tired, so I take a trip back to my neighbourhood. On the way back to my room I witness a small car accident. It is a light incident, with small damage to three cars and no apparent injuries. This doesn't prevent an impressive response from the Tokyo emergency services. Within five minutes, four or five vehicles show up, with about 6-7 police and 6-7 fire crew. Perhaps it is a slow day at the office, but this level of manpower seems a little excessive?!? Within no time the police are re-directing traffic, taking statements and getting things organised. The fire crews are...well... not doing anything at all really, but at least they are here just in case and I get a smile from the nice firelady.

Another day in Tokyo and by 9pm I'm falling asleep...

Saturday morning in Ueno Park

2011-01-15T02:29:00.000-08:00

Life in Tokyo: Days 1 and 2

2011-01-14T12:40:00.000-08:00

For no apparent reason, I'm spending a month in Tokyo. I feel really lucky to be able to take a random trip like this to somewhere I have never been before and thought I may never get the chance to go to.

I got a great deal on a flight from Birmingham to Tokyo via Amsterdam and everything goes well. I get my vegan meal on the plane (trust me, go vegan when you fly, you always get extra salad and fruit, plus you always get your meal first which is my favourite thing ever!). I get to Watch The Social Network again and it is just as good second time around.

Arriving sleepy in Tokyo, I have the friendliest bag search of my entire life, with the customs guy laughing at everything I say and my four guidebooks, as he inspects my bag thoroughly. He is highly amused by the six Dairy Milk chocolate bars that I have brought along to give to people I meet or stay with. When I arrive in the US I am always tired and scared of saying the wrong thing and being turned away or getting back roomed, but arriving in Tokyo is a pleasure.

I manage to work out the best train to get to my hotel and am on my way. I had trouble trying to figure out where to stay but I went for a hotel with hardly any reviews which is in the middle of a tourist free suburb - Arakawa. A strange choice perhaps, but I can get my own room for little over the cost of a bed in a hostel. They have wired internet in each room, a kitchen, a communal Japanese bath and it is not too far from a train station - a ten minute walk through the sleepy suburb.

I worried about the lack of reviews, but after spending a couple of nights here, it seems to be completely fine and I'm very happy with my decision. I have little energy when I arrive so after a short stroll around the area, I retire to my room, going to sleep at about 8pm.

You are given flip flops when you arrive for walking around the hotel with and when you go to the bathroom there are special toilet flip flops you wear. It takes me a while to move around at more than a shuffle.

Day Two
As my body clock is all wrong, I wake up at 4am. I kill a bit of time reading and waiting for the sun to rise and the trains to start running.

At 6am I head off towards the Fish Market. I walk through Arakawa neighbourhood to the station and check out the surroundings. It's unremarkable, but the great thing is that even at 6am there are three convenience stores en route that are open.
Japansese convenience stores, 'combis', are awesome, you can buy all kinds of stuff in there and they are on ever corner. I buy myself a kind of roll of rice with a tangy curry sauce in the middle. Of course, I had no idea what is what going to be, but I was pleased with my gamble.

With minimal confusion, I manage to buy my subway ticket and I am on board with the very early morning commuters. The train is crowded but not too bad. I have almost already been tricked by the gates at the subway stations here. There are ticket barriers but the doors are open and sometimes you have to go through a couple to get to the platform.

Yesterday I made the fatal mistake of trying to just walk through one. There is a sensor that closes the gate at the last possible moment, meaning I walked into it with a clunk. Then a guy came and shouted at me, politely of course.

The subway is quite confusing with lots of private lines with their own stations and tickets. You can get an oyster type card, but I haven't figured out how to go that.

The fish market is crazy. The powers that be have decided that at the moment, members of the public aren't allowed into the tuna auction itself, but in the market next door there is still a lot to see.

Little carts zip around everywhere picking up and dropping off orders, meanwhile traders show their wares and prepare them. Generally it seems to be more of a wholesale trade, I guess to restaurant chefs and so on, but a few traders sell to individuals and I pick myself up some fresh tuna for lunch later.

It's pretty crowded in there and you need to be careful not to get run over by the trucks. At one point I take an evasive step back and bump into a giant tank of live crabs!

Outside there are a little alleyways with sushi restaurants. One in particular has a large queue of tourists outside at 7am. I guess that is the one in Lonely Planet.

After hanging out for a bit longer I take a walk into the Ginza area. I guess it seems to be the high class shopping type area which is just waking up. There are not many people around but the window cleaner is pleased to see me.

It is pretty cold outside so I decide to have can of coffee from a vending machine. There's a massive choice on offer and I decide to go with the Aromax Premium Gold. The can is lovely and warm and I use it to warm my hands for a while before beginning to sip.

It is still before 9 and after taking a stroll through a small park, the only thing I can find open is the atrium of the exhibition hall, a huge and quite cool glass structure. So I take a seat and eat some convenience store sushi for breakfast whilst watching the steady train of commuters on the way to work, queueing one by one for the escalator.

At 11, some museums and galleries open, so I check out a couple of cool little photography galleries, one upstairs in a high end camera store and the other downstairs in a department store. I walk further around the neighbourhood and eventually get tired, so retreat to Starbucks (yeah I know) and watch the Banksy film Exit Through the Gift Shop on my netbook which I enjoy very much.

In the afternoon I have my first couch surfing meet up of the trip. I meet a girl called Akane at the coach station. She has just taken a five hour coach trip and is in Tokyo looking for work, she has a train booked to Saitama and two hours to kill, so we go for a coffee in a Japanese coffee shop this time and talk about our respective travel experiences and lives.

"There is no anti-social behavior in Japan" she tells me, "because you will be shunned by society and your family" - Whilst that is perhaps not entirely true, it does say something about the role of the family within this country. She is currently working one day a week and looking for more work. It seems Japan doesn't really have unemployment benefit and it falls on the family to support their unemployed relatives. Akane is not a fan of the social welfare systems in places such as the UK, where she lived for a while and Sweden, where she studied for a year.

At 6 I get a little sleepy so I head back to my hotel, stopping at the convenience store 'Lawson' on the way home to pic up the all essential noodles in a cup and edamame beans for snacks.

I again turn in early, but not before I upgrade to a bigger pair of flip flops for the larger footed gentleman.

WSOP Main Event Day Three: Part two

2010-12-08T11:02:00.000-08:00

As I get settled at my new table I took stock of my new opponents.

Again it was a mixed table. There were a few younger internet player guys in logos, as well as a few older nittish tight guys. With the Russian who has a huge amount of chips on my right, I was facing a whole new calibre of opponent. I was fortunate to have direct position on him, but I knew that there would be no more easy progress and I would have to be on the top of my game from now on, even more so. He looked unassuming - about 14 and seemed like he was just about to start shaving, but I knew that appearances were deceptive and he would be a formidable opponent.

Kostritsyn started as he meant to go on by raising a lot of pots and then getting involved post flop with a lot of small bets. I started patiently. I had not played with him before and possibly not played with anyone of that calibre before, so I wanted to try and get more of an idea of his play before I started to get out of line against him.

After about an hour at the table I suffered my first 'cooler' hand of the tournament. I picked up pocket kings and got into a raising war with one of the young players at the table. I'm not sure I have ever folded kings pre-flop and I wasn't going to start now. Maybe against one of the older guys I might consider it, but against someone who looked as if they could play a bit there is no way I'm folding. He had aces of course, I don't suck out and end up sending around 85,000 chips, a little under half my stack, to his side of the table.

In retrospect this was really bad timing as now I was down to about 40 big blinds and restricted. I didn't have nearly enough chips to get involved with the Russian without a good hand. He was playing a lot of pots, so that hampered my own ability to steal.

If there's one person you don't want to see walking towards your table when an incompetent old Chinese man busts out, it is Allen Cunningham. Quite simply one of the best tournament players of all time, I was less than thrilled when he took the empty seat. One consolation was that he was very shortstacked didn't have any chips to work with. As a result of this, a TV camera stationed itself nearby, so it was available to be called to catch his bust out hand.

It was at this point that I decided to review the small print of my contract from Full Tilt. It turns out I would get money for appearing on television, but ONLY if I was wearing a Full Tilt baseball cap backwards. Now I hate wearing a baseball cap, let alone backwards and I'm not proud to say that I chased the corporate dollar and donned the reverse logoed headwear, after all, I might be the one to bust Cunningham.

Meanwhile Kostritsyn continued raising and I continued folding. I managed to find a few good spots to keep my head above water. Shortly after Cunningham's arrival, another of the weak players at the table busted. This time he was replaced by a guy with a ridiculous amount of chips, who actually needed a second person to help him carry them all. It was soon confirmed that this guy was the chipleader in the entire tournament. So now I had Kostritsyn to my right and the tournament chipleader to the right of him. Now would be a great time to pick up a hand!

It turns out that the chipleader was decidedly spewy and wasn't banking on shutting down or keeping it tight. Along with the Russian, he was in a lot of pots and bleeding chips off at all angles but sadly not to me.

I managed to increase my chipstack some, but soon misplayed a couple of hands to knock me right back down.

Firstly I decided to play back at Kostritsyn in a hand that I now regret.

It folded to him on the button and he opened to 2.4x as he had done a lot. I looked down at 76 of spades and decided to three bet. It was the first time I had done this. BB folded and Kostritsyn called. Even though I had not three bet yet, it was very unlikely he would pass up the chance to play a pot in position, so this is the first regret. I should have just folded and not picked the only place on the board where I was out of position to play back at him.

The flop 2-4-8 with one spade, giving me a host of backdoor draws. Of course I c-bet and the Russian quickly and calmly called. The turn was a 9 which now meant I had an up and down straight draw, I decide to fire again and the same as before, the Russian quickly calls. I had now made a large and bloated pot out of position against a very tough player. This was not a very good combination. The river was a 3, leaving me with just a woeful 7 high. I was left with almost exactly a pot sized bet in my stack and my choice was now whether I wanted to three barrel bluff my entire stack in the WSOP Main Event with 7 high?

I pondered, but there was no way I could run a bluff for all of my chips. Perhaps this was a sensible decision or was it a weak decision? Kostritsyn had seemed strong the whole way through and the river was pretty much a blank, changing nothing. I wasn't really sure what I was trying to make him fold and what I could make him fold. I checked and then he himself bet the river. I tanked to save face and folded, furious with myself. The fact that he bet the river rather than taking a showdown, indicates to me that he either had a very strong hand, or was bluffing himself, although his hand was still better than mine. I'm inclined to think the former, perhaps a set, but I have no idea. I'd love to know what he had.

Again I built up my stack again before I got into a confrontation with Lyle Berman's son, Bradley. At this point I had no idea that this guy was the son of a famous poker player. He had a chirpy demeanor and was making jokes with the dealers and other players. This combined with his beard and scruffy dress made me assume (I guess wrongly) that he was some kind of satellite winning hick, out of his depth and enjoying his shot at the big one.

Sadly I can't remember how the hand played out, but I remember that he opened and I three bet from the big blind with AK. I then led out on a raggy low two heart flop, check called a medium card on the turn and then checked a non heart Q on the river. I don't know why, but my solid read on this guy was that he had a flush draw. Something about the speed he took to call the flop and then the slightly shaky reluctant bet on the turn. On the river I planned to call him down with ace high as long as a heart didn't come. He did bet and it was a decent sized bet. I didn't love the queen but I wanted to stick by my read. The board was now something like 3468Q and there were a lot of flush draws that didn't have a pair that it made sense for him to bluff the river. I was pretty confident I was correct and made the call. He flipped over AQ of hearts and with a cheeky grin, took a nice chunk out of my stack. I was pleased my read was technically correct but still wondered if I should have somehow found the fold. In retrospect I don't mind my play that much and it was just a shame that he got there.

So now I was quite short and before and after dinner hovered between 15-22bbs. I managed to stay afloat with a few timely steals and resteals and didn't end up with my tournament life at risk.

In the midst of all this, Allen Cunningham was griding his shortstack. He was all in and called once and the action was halted so the TV cameras could be summoned. This time he was able to double up and with him no longer on deathwatch, the cameras moved off to find another well known player on the verge of busting.

I don't think I played a hand with Cunningham the whole time I was at the table. We were both short and having to be selective about the hands we played.

He has a crazy stare and this insane nose twitch when he is thinking! I don't think it means anything because he did the twitch every single hand he played. He had such an intensity and a presence at the table, I was just thankful he was shortstacked.

Then came the hand which was to be my downfall. I chipped up again a little and was now sitting at a little over 30bbs.

Me ~65k
Villain ~100k -
Blinds 1000/2000 with a 200 ante -

It folds to me on the button and I open to 5100 with AsJc. So far, so standard.

In the small blind, a young internet kid in Deuces Cracked patch calls. BB folds. The kid has played quite low key so far and seemed quite tight aggressive and not been out of line too much.

The flop is Jd, 8c, 4c

He checks to me and with top pair top kicker I decided to bet on the large side to give him the perfect stack size to check raise me all in. He looked like he could be the type to do that with a jack, some kind of draw or even a bluff - I bet 9,000 with the intention of never folding.

He does exactly that and check raises me all in - I snap call and he turns over Kh Jh - just a worse jack with no backdoor draws. I am now almost a 9-1 favourite to double up to an above average stack for the last 90 minutes of he day.

Just the three kings to dodge, first time all in and I'm a 9-1 favourite - surely I can hold?

Sadly it was not to be. This time there were no TV cameras, and the dealer, without ceremony, put out a king on the turn to send me all but out of the tournament. I still had three aces to hit to make a two pair, but I barely had time to consider this before an inconsequential river card fell, I was shaking the hand of my opponent and walking off out of the Amazon Room as fast as I could.

I finished about 1150th out of a total field of 7,319. It sounds impressive but I had come all this way and won nothing. I was devastated.

I made the requisite calls to my next of kin informing them of my demise and then went up to my suite, sank into my bed and hardly moved for the next 24 hours.

Busting out of the Main Event must be the worst feeling in poker. To be all in for the first time as such a favourite and to be knocked out, I felt cheated and wronged!

In retrospect I actually had a great chance to accumulate some chips. Two huge stacks were directly to my right and it is said in poker that chips move to the left. I had a great chance to get a big stack, but the nature of the table meant that it was a lot more high variance than previous days.

The KK vs AA hand came exactly at the wrong time and robbed me of a lot of the freedom I had to play pots with the bigstacks. I was then forced to pick precise spots or wait for good hands, sadly I didn't get my card rush this time.

It was a great tournament and I enjoy every minute apart from the last one. I felt I aquitted myself excellently, played some of my best poker and had a great chance to win some money.

I'm not sure if I will ever play the main event again, but I'm glad I took one shot at the glory and don't regret entering one bit.

*Alexander Kostritsin finished 52nd in the main event winning $168,556. I can safely say he is the best player I've ever played against. He played magnificently and controlled my table.

**I'm pretty sure the guy who was the chipleader in the middle of day three didn't even make the money in the tournament. 747 players got paid.

***The final of the Main event took place in November and French Canadian Jonathan Duhamel took down the $8,944,310 first prize.

WSOP Main Event Day Three: Part One

2010-12-07T10:32:00.000-08:00

I start the day with 159,700 chips which far exceeded any expectations of how I would progress in this event, especially after how my first few days in Vegas went.

My progress had been comparatively serene and I'd managed to chip up without really playing a big pot. I'd been lucky and found good spots, but was also pleased with my ability to stay out of trouble which is a HUGE factor considering this is the slowest structured tournament of the year.

My day three table draw was promising. I started as the largest stack on my table and had two excellent young players, Anders Taylor and Tristan Wade (online name Cr8ive), directly to my right. They both had nice stacks too, but I had direct position on them which would be a huge advantage, plus I figured I would also be unknown to them. The rest of my table was something of a mystery.

I spent the evening beforehand reading Tristan Wade's blog to try and get a read on his play. I was well rested and as well prepared as I felt I could be for a crucial day of play.

I knew that my table would break and I would be assigned a new seat after about three hours, therefore my strategy chanced from previous days. On days one and two I'd played very tight early to get a feel of my table and to build up a solid image that I could exploit later on by loosening up and being more aggressive.

This time I knew that establishing any image would be worthless as my table would only last for a few hours, so I vowed to start out with aggression and to apply pressure - particularly to the two skilled players to my right. I was hoping I was unknown to them and as such they would have to give me credit early on and not want to make a misstep against the only player who outchipped them, without having a solid read on me.

This ended up working out quite well and I was able to increase my stack to 196,000 before the table broke and I was moved. However the two good players weren't afraid to mix it up and take risks, even joking to each other about getting in a huge flip to enable one of them to become one of the tournament chipleaders.

After a few hours it became apparent that our table would be next to break. I responded to this by slowing down my play by taking an extra five or ten seconds, so I would not have to pay the big blind again before being moved and therfore not getting to take advantage of my free hands. The guy next to me also had the same idea but took it to the extreme. He loudly asked the floorman if we were breaking next. When he received the affirmative response, he put a chip on his cards and sat back on his chair and waited and waited. The table was patient for a while but this soon ran out. "Are you tanking because we are breaking next?" asked one player. "uh huh" he replied. Not surprisingly the floorman was called. The situation was explained, but really, what can be done? A player has the right to take his time for a decision, so all you can do is give him/her a 60 second countdown. The hand took about five minutes and straight afterwards we were assigned new tables, so I guess the guy who stalled felt as if he made the right play.

I thought about my own decision to slow down and whether it was correct and ethical to do this? A player who I respect a lot, Jonathan Aguiar (online name FatalError), wrote that when playing live he does anything he can to speed the game up, makes quick decisions, provides change for people, helps the dealer, provides chipcounts and so on. He will do anything he can to achieve one or two extra hands per hour as he feels that the more hands you play, the more a skilled player will be able to take advantage.

I certainly agree with this and will also try to speed up the play, though will never interfere to give chipcounts if I am not in the hand as I don't think this is good etiquette. So I wondered if slowing down in this instance was counter productive? I decided that in this instance it was warranted as the benefit of getting extra hands was trumped by being able to avoid paying my blind.

My new table was still in the Pavilion room but right at the front. I knew that I would now be at this table for most or all of play that remained in the day.

Taking my seat at my new table I was greeted by the following sight. Quite a big pot was in progress, one guy had made a large river bet and his opponent was considering whether to call. Meanwhile in the seat directly to my right, a guy who looked about 16 was in the process of stacking an absolute mountain of chips.

"How many chips do you have?" enquired the guy in seat one, who turned out to be the son of famous player Lyle Berman, as I took my own decent sized stack out from its racks. "About 200k" I replied. "yep, that's about what the last guy had" he replied back with a smile and a motion to the player on my right.

Initially I think the player to my right is the Swedish online player Mendieta. Soon it becomes apparent that he is Russian and his identity is Alexander Kostritsyn - former winner of the Aussie Millions and high stakes cash player. It would be inevitable that I would at some point have to clash with him.

Meanwhile the hand is still going on and finally the second player reluctantly folds. The first guy puts his head in his hands and shakes his head. He then stands up, takes a few paces back and shouts "FUUUUUUUCK" "FUUUUUUUCK!" It's like a bad beat, only he has won the hand and it is a big pot too! Unfortunately for him, the floorman is standing directly next to him when he made his scream and he gets a one orbit penalty for his outburst.

It is quite a welcome to the table!

WSOP Main event Day Two report

2010-12-07T08:06:00.000-08:00

Much belated but here we go...

After Day one, I have three days off and return to play day 2b on Saturday.

My table is in the Amazon Room, very close to the Secondary Feature Table where 'The Unabomber' Phil Laak is no doubt going through some of his trademark ‘crazy antics’. It seemed like a pretty good table, with German Eddy Scharf the only name pro. I’d seen Scharf on TV and he seemed to play pretty tight, solid and predictable and I didn’t expect him to get out of line too much against a table of unknowns.

Getting to my seat and scanning the table it was clear that I was the second youngest there. This was a marked contrast to the end of day one and a welcome sight.

Table draw

In seat one was a guy called Mario who was a nice guy and regular at Commerce. He was a decent player but called a little too much and spewed a little, something I looked to take advantage of. He also gave me a delicious burrito as he was allergic to tomato seeds.

I was in seat three and each side of me I had an ‘old business dude’ – the Gucci shoes were a giveaway. These are rich guys, perhaps even millionaires who play the Main Event for fun and are not very good. Yum Yum. But as Steve Begleiter proved last year, ‘old business dudes’ can make the final table.

Seat five was an Austrian kid in loud sunglasses who turned out to be quite good and had a few moves in him so I had to be wary.

In seat six was a guy who’s Facebook page my friend had discovered. All I knew about him is he was an amateur and he had a passion for scuba diving. I hoped to sneak in a scuba reference at a crucial moment.

Seat seven is the aforementioned Eddy Scharf.

Seat eight contained vegan yoga dude who played pretty tight all day.

And finally seat nine was an older Australian woman who had qualified on a freeroll and played the first day in a cork hat. I’m sure the field featured many skilled and competent female players, but it’s worth noting that during WSOP 2010, every single female player I faced was absolutely terrible.

I would love to play Day Two of the 2010 WSOP Main Event every day for the rest of my life. I slowly and serenely chipped up throughout the day, staying out of trouble and folding any marginal spots.

I started off by picking up a few big hands and winning a couple of nice pots while I got a feel for the dynamics of the table. It was not long until I felt very comfortable and in control. Having very weak players directly to my right and left certainly helped and my only real worry was the Austrian kid. I'd like to think that Eddy Scharf quickly respected me. As we were opposite on the table, we played several pots where one of us opened and the other defended the big blind. We both took care to keep these pots small and avoided risks.

Toilet smalltalk guide

Scuba guy played as if he was doubled parked and spewed his chips off in remarkably quick fashion - sadly not to me. He was replaced by a generic middle-aged white dude (GMWD). I had been in Vegas for over a week at that point and had random small talk with lots of people. I'd guess I am quite unusual looking (6'4, long blonde curly hair, stylish range of headwear), so people remember me. I however struggled very much to remember anything about any of the GMWDs who started chatting to me, usually with the opening gambit of "BIR-MING-HAAAM, how are you doing?", often in the bathroom. Fortunately I have now mastered the art of poker toilet smalltalk:

1) Mention your chipcount

2) Perhaps drop in a reference to a famous player near you or at your table

3) Enquire about their situation and listen attentively for about five seconds

4) Start to walk away and say something like "good luck, sir"

5) If at any point they seem about to launch into a bad beat story, usually these start with the line "So I had pocket queens/kings/aces....", immediately ask them to pay you $5

6) Always wash your hands

I bust someone!

A couple of hours in, I busted out my first and only opponent of the tournament. The Aussie lady with a stack of about 21bbs opened from the cut off for a full 3x. It folds around to me in the big blind and I look down at pocket queens. The lady has been reasonably tight but I don’t see any way I’m ever folding queens with my stack this shallow. After deliberation I rule out flat calling and decide to three bet to 8.5bbs, leaving possible room for her to shove in case she wanted to get frisky with jacks or tens.

It seems like a standard spot where she should go all in or fold, but of course she flat calls quickly! At this point due to the speed of the call, I pretty much assume she has a pair, probably between 66 and TT. When the ideal flop of 334 comes then I know she isn’t folding. Even so, I bet out really small with lots of small denomination chips and don’t announce the bet size so it is hard to tell the amount of the bet. She’s very inexperienced and if she acts quickly before the dealer announced the amount, she might think she can make me fold if she goes all in. I don’t want to put her all in because with their tournament life on the line, inexperienced players can make big folds. True to form she goes all in and reveals pocket fives. The turn and river are no help to her, I shake her hand, say good game and pad my stack. I of course don’t tell her that she played it horribly.

Again my plan was to try not to bluff very much, play cautiously when I flop top pair and only get into a big pot if I really had a big hand. I stuck to this quite well although I did run one big semi bluff against Tomato Seed Mario, where I made him lay down his KQ on a on a QTx flop when I three bet pre and shoved for just over the pot on him with on the flop with AK - two overcards and a gutshot. I must admit that in that instance I'm not sure I would have expected him to lay down something quite that strong, but my tight image helped and of course he didn't want to call all in with just one pair. I tried to stay under the radar for the day, being friendly with the table and joining in the banter which was at times quite entertaining.

No ipod

I never listen to music anymore when I play live. I think that you can lose so much by not being able to hear what is going on at the table, people give away clues to their hand and you can even pick up breathing changes sometimes if you listen closely enough.

Take the guy in seat two, he spent most of the day muttering under his breath about his bad cards, how he couldn't hit a hand and how he was running so bad. Then finally on one hand he went deadly silent and started putting in a lot of action on the flop. Well there was no way I was getting involved there and true to form he showed that he flopped a set. Sometimes people even mutter under their breath and actually say what cards they have. Insanity!

Gucci shoe business dude was the classic weak tight player, always looking for a way to fold, but in his case it was mixed with extreme spewiness in blind vs blind situations. Three times it folded around to him in the small blind and he raised, each time I had a playable hand in position, called, flopped a pair and hung on to showdown whilst he took multiple stabs at the pot. I managed to pick up quite a lot of chips from him this way and never understood why he got so aggressive from the worst position on the table.

It's always a moment of anticipation when you have a free seat at your table. Phil Ivey could be about to come and fill it, or it could be a wheezing 80 year old pensioner, or a man dressed as a dog. When the Australian woman busted I drew the short straw and she was replaced by Steve-Paul (Curtly) Ambrose, an extremely good Poker Stars sponsored Canadian player, who has also enjoyed live success. This was not good news as he was an accomplished player, but not a big name pro so I wouldn't be likely to get on TV.

Again throughout the day the table got a little stronger. A mute Spanish guy was moved to my left sometime around dinner and began the annoying behaviour of flat calling a lot of my open raises, so I played much tighter for the last few hours.

Very late in the day, the business dude in seat two started playing very strange and unpredictably. Beforehand he had been in heated discussions with his long-suffering trophy wife who had stood on the rail watching him. Then afterwards he ran a couple of crazy bluffs which both got through. Then suddenly and completely randomly he opened for six times the big blind from early position. The standard is three times or less and he'd stuck to this the whole day. I looked down at AQ offsuit and was really confused as to what I should do. We were quite deepstacked at that point and I didn't want to throw away the hard work of the day, plus there were several people left to act behind me, so I just folded. I still have no idea what he had. It turns out that he was a building contractor who spent a lot of time away and had promised his wifehe would come home if he didn't have a certain number of chips by the end of the day. Hence the crazy strategy

Shortly before the end of play, I get my chance to run a squeezeplay that I've been wanting to do all day. Steve-Paul Ambrose opens from the cut off and Tomato Seed Mario flats from the button, small blind folds and I'm in the big blind with some suited two gapper like 47 of clubs - I can't even remember. Mario had been flat calling too much with marginal hands to try and take flops and I knew if I rereaised then Steve would have to have a premium hand to continue. By this time he was getting quite short, so he would quite probably need to shove or fold and with two players to worry about, my tight image which he would be aware of and with him no doubt looking to avoid high variance spots, I felt he would fold a high percentage of the time here. I also had enough room to fold if he did decide to shove. The worry was that Mario might call, but he'd shown a reluctance to get involved with me and I banked on him not wanting to bust just before the end of the day. True to form he quickly folds and Mario ponders before doing the same. Steve later told me he folded Ace Jack without any thought whatsoever.

I finish the day on 159,700, incredibly happy with my play and ready for the third day of play.

Blue Grotto, Malta

2010-11-26T18:26:00.001-08:00

DSCF0120, originally uploaded by phillhuxley.

Valletta

2010-11-26T18:25:00.001-08:00

DSCF0082, originally uploaded by phillhuxley.

Paul's Store

2010-11-26T18:24:00.001-08:00

DSCF0190, originally uploaded by phillhuxley.

Valletta bus station at dusk

2010-11-26T18:23:00.001-08:00

DSCF0228, originally uploaded by phillhuxley.

Gozo

2010-11-26T18:22:00.001-08:00

DSCF0255, originally uploaded by phillhuxley.

Cumberland Hotel, Valletta

2010-11-26T18:21:00.001-08:00

DSCF0283, originally uploaded by phillhuxley.

Fire

2010-11-26T18:17:00.001-08:00

DSCF0311, originally uploaded by phillhuxley.

In the Three Cities area of Malta where my poker tournament took place, I noticed some cool, beat up looking buildings. Afterfiguring out how to get over there, I realised that they were part of an old dockyard which now seems closed down. Fences were around to stop people getting in and as there was bright sunlight and security, I n...ever even tried that one, but I managed to take some nice exterior shots.

Gambling

2010-11-10T17:20:00.000-08:00

I've just arrived in Malta to play a few tournaments. After examining some of the local walls (solid but stylish), I decided to play a cash game for a few hours on my first night here. The casino's rake is absurd, but the players are terrible.

I take a seat in a 2/5 euro game because there is one free. I plan to perhaps drop down to 1/2 later, but my first hand at the table convinces me otherwise.

Two guys get 100 big blinds each in preflop, then get the other 25bb all in on the flop. When it comes to show down, one flips over QJs for a pair and the caller turns over a 4, mucks his other card and then shoves his stacks of chips into the middle of the table so they topple over and storms off John D'Agostino style.

So the game goes on, there is often a straddle to 10 and a dead minimum raise to 20. It's a juicy game for sure! I lose a big flip when I get 90bbs + dead money in preflop with TT (the nuts!) and the guy with AK rivers a king on me.

I reload to 500 and grind it back to 700 and get it all in vs a 500 stack with 89 on a 467 flop vs his A7. Odds calculator tells me it is exactly 50/50 but I don't get there and hit any of my outs.

I am left with 220 in my stack and am deciding whether to stay or leave when the following hand happens:

We are 6 handed and I am dealt aces in the BB.

First to act folds and the hijack, an older Italian guy who has all his chips messily stacked, pulls out a bunch and throws them into the pot. However, his disorganisation has lead to him putting a 100 in with all the 5s, so he opens to 130 - we are of course playing 2/5 and this is a 26x open raise.

Instantly he tries to take it back but I politely urge the dealer to call the floor, so he can be told he can't do that. Chips have crossed the line, it plays.

It folds around to the sb who has been silent throughout this. He is sitting on a stack of about 3,000 and is a decent player and raises it up to 270.

Well this can't get any better and I ponder for a few seconds before going all in for my 220.

The initial raiser is only playing about 400, but even so, he's now getting a really good price to continue playing, so he also makes the call.

We now have a 660 main pot and a 100 side pot.

Flop comes down T97 and big stack puts the Italian in for the rest of his chips. He moans and groans and waves his arms, before calling.

This is a cash game so we keep our hands concealed for now.

Turn is a king and the big stack instantly flips up KK.

River is a blank and three kings takes the pot.

Sigh.

On another night I win those two flips and have 1,600 sitting in front of me, get it all in with aces vs kings and hold, leaving the game 2,700 euros to the good.

Tonight instead I drop 1k.

I hate poker.

London (raise) calling

2010-09-20T09:51:00.000-07:00

Last week I traveled to the English capital to play two poker tournaments. I sold shares in myself to a selection of people from a forum I post on and I was looking forward to playing live and hoping for a chance to have a deep run.

As the students were still away, I booked a room at University College London's Halls of Residence near Oxford Circus. It was odd to be back in a small room with bluetack stained walls and even odder that it was in the West End just up the road from where I used to work. The single bed was....well....adequate, but the Internet connection was perfect and the kitchen was awesome.

ENGLISH POKER OPEN
The Palm Beach Casino in Mayfair was the venue for the English Poker Open. It had been held in Nottingham last year and I was sad I missed it, so I vowed to play this year.

The venue was a pretty nice casino but very cramped. Several players including myself were wedged into certain areas and it was a nightmare to move around. Added to this one of the screens with the blind levels wasn't working and the online live streaming seemed problematic. But this is just me moaning, it was basically a good tournament, just no WSOP.

BUST OUT
To start at the end, I was knocked out of the tournament on second last hand of the day after playing for around 10 hours. It was a standard coinflip vs high stakes regular and Leggo Poker instructor King Dan that would have put me above average going into the second day.

I got up to 21k from my 15k start stack pretty early but doubled up a guy with my QQ vs his KK - that put me down to about 7.5k.

I hovered between 7-9k all day until finally doubled through Keith 'The Camel' Hawkins. I had a stack of 10.5bbs and my open ended got there on the turn against him in a slightly odd hand. Normally I would never be taking a flop with less than 15bbs but it was one of those strange live poker situations.

The guy next to me had just been knocked out, so I was the only blind in the hand. Keith open limped the hijack which was very odd. He is a live player so can obviously do unusual things, but also plays online and I respect his game. The button folds and it was on me. At this point all he knows about me is that I've played very tight for the last 2-3 hours and I play more online than live. I have 11bbs and my hand is JTo - I really wanted to just shove because I suspected he limped because he didn't want to price himself into a call if I shoved, but I was confused - it's a very odd limp from late position and I wondered if he was trying to trap somehow? I hadn't played with him long enough to know. The guy to his left was also a strong player - so what would he limp with when that guy was on the button?

So I just checked.

Flop came KQx rainbow giving me the open ender. I checked, he bet about half pot and I shoved. Keith went into the tank and started trying to talk to me but I say nothing and don't even look. He says that I looked back at my hand before I shoved and this makes him want to call. I pretty much always do this before making an aggressive action - so it doesn't really mean anything - but often people read things into it - I've had it work to my advantage before - but this time it went against me and he made the call, showing QJs. I bink my 9 on the turn and double up. Keith has quite a big stack after he one outered someone earlier and he pays me off and says he would have folded if I hadn't looked back at my hand.

PLAYER OF THE YEAR!?
Played all day with double bracelet winner Frank Kasella - All I'll say is that I hope he played mix games better than NL tournaments because he was pretty loose and spewy, but his presence gave the table a specific dynamic because he did not want to ever fold! When he opened he never folded to a three bet, he never wanted to fold the flop and in one hand he opened with 56s and got shoved all in on for 20bbs and SNAP CALLED! In another he ran a crazy bluff with king high vs the tightest player at the table. Despite this he had chips all day, but as I hovered around 20-23bbs for a lot of the day, it meant I could only resteal for value, because he was likely to call. On top of this, the players on my right also knew he was playing a ton of hands, so were three betting him liberally. As I didn't really get many big hands, it was hard for me to get involved a lot of the time. I should get my 'I survived a day with Frank Kasella' badge! The man likes to chat too!

Otherwise table was generally pretty solid. So I played pretty tight, grinded the short stack and then got my double.

Last half hour I was moved to another table which was softer. As much open limping in half hour as in the previous ten hours.

I pretty much hadn't played a hand since I sat down for an orbit and a half. In that time King Dan had four bet this 'recreational' guy and folded to a shove - I knew more about his opponent in the hand because he had been at my table before and I knew he was by no means good and quite tight -so I wouldn't think he could three bet light, but now we know Dan can four bet light!

I'd also talked with Dan briefly at the welcome party and I would suspect he had me pegged as not very experienced and probably a freeroll winner.

Blinds 3/600 with 50 ante - I have 14k and there are two hands left to play before we bag up. and it folds to me in the hijack. I think to myself before looking at my hand, I can't open light here because Dan is going to be shipping on me really wide if it folds through to him. Two hands left and he is going to think I want to survive to day two and also probably thinks I might be weak and raise fold a lot.

Turns out I look down at AQo - I have too many chips to just open ship here and my hand is too good. I so I open to 1.6k and true to form he ship it on me. I am delighted to call and he has 44, but the board comes all bricks and I'm out just before bagging up time.

I enjoyed the tournament - there was some value and a small overlay - but I feel I again got a toughish table draw plus the fact that I was short and Frank K was at the table made me quite handcuffed and unable to do much.
-----------------------------
-----------------------------
WSOPE £1k
I'd say this was a tournament with a lot of value - though of course if you don't get a hand at the right time then the structure catches up with you.

I'd bought in the previous week, so I was all registered - A leisurely stroll through London and I get to the Empire on the strike of Noon. I know this casino well but am interested in how WSOPE is going to fit in the casino. To anyone that's been there, I have no idea why they've now closed the poker room off the rest of the entire casino and now you have to go out and round the front entrance and in another door to get to it. Cash game action was humming every time I went there, even with a rake of 5% up to a cap of £10!

I wind my way around the casino looking for my seat. It seems the 5k Omaha continues to go on downstairs and the £1k tables are somewhat haphazardly jammed into different places around the balcony area. It's not as cramped as for the EPO, but it's pretty close.

A good draw!

Good news that I don't recognise anyone at my table. There is a woman in a tracksuit, a man in gear for the website Poker Idol - which is an obscure skin on the Ongame network, an older Irish guy, a couple of Londoners who know each other and a couple of Scandis.

We start with 3k chips at blinds of 25/25 and one hour levels.

The table is AWESOME. It is the best table I've had in any tournament I've played this year. There's lots of open limping, limp folding, odd bet sizing and distinctly un-optimal play.

Last week in the EPO I had a lot of suited and connected hands early, but this week I get a lot of trash of the J4o variety, so I end up playing quite tight. The hands I do play, I try not to get too involved unless I flop something really good and I manage to move up to

By late in level two 25/50 - I have worked up my stack a little and 3x open 22 from middle position. The only other decent player at the table flats me, as do the two blinds.

The flop comes 268 and I have flopped a set! Now how to get paid? I decide to fast play and not mess around as the board isn't super dry and lead out for 450 when the blinds check to me. In about a second, the good player jams his 2k stack on me, the blinds fold and I can't get my chips in fast enough. He flips over QQ for the overpair and I dodge a queen to get myself up to 4,800 at the first break. Already 40 of the 202 field have busted and it looks as if it is going to be a day of carnage.

After the break we are at 50/100 and I soon bust a short stack when he ships his 8bbs in from early position and I wake up with A5s in the BB. His Q5 is no good and I am up to 5,200 with two KOs already!

My table is still great and the free seats are being filled by complete droolers. I look around at the four tables around me in our little section which feature Chris Ferguson, Praz Bansi, Kevin MacPhee, John Tabaitabai, Antonio Esfandiari and JP Kelly and realise I am running insanely good to have nobody decent whatsoever at my table, but my luck can't last and towards the end of level three the onimous figure of the floor man indicates that our table is the first from this section to break.

Table draw god gets his revenge

I rack up my 5.5k chips and take them to my new assignment which is right over the other side of the casino, along the balcony and through a small corridor in 'The Shadow Room'!

It's something of an understatement to say my new table is not so good. The table gods had their revenge on me.

To greet me down one end of the table is Keith 'The Camel' Hawkins. The second tournament in a row I've played with this wily old pro. Also down this end of the table are four young guys in their early twenties expertly riffling chips

The other end of the table is not a pretty sight. In order to my left we have Black Belt Poker supremo Nik Persaud, UK circuit regular Chris Brammer, living legend John Juanda and November Niner John Dolan.

At the time I think Dolan is Mike 'Timex' MacDonald and I do think they look a bit similar.

First hand I look down at AKs in middle position. I open, Persaud flats me and Dolan ships 2,400 from the big blind. For a second I think about what I want to do here. Obviously I am not folding so I ship it in and Nik folds.

I'm up against KK and the board comes all bricks. I'm back to 3k.

Welcome to the table!

The next few hours are a struggle and I can't get anything going but at least I'm glad I chipped up early so I am still in the tournament. A lot of players at the table are sitting on 15/20bb reshove stacks and clearly everybody in the table knows how to resteal, so I can't particularly open light much at all.

Soon I'm down to 15/20 bbs myself but the good news is that Dolan, Juanda, Brammer and Persaud all bust within 90 minutes and at least a couple of weaker players replace them. Hawkins sticks around and for the second tournament in a row I see him hit a one outer! Must be nice.

But now I'm getting super short and am still struggling to find a hand. For a little while it is not so urgent, but as soon as the antes come in I know I can't hand around too much more.

Once I get a walk in the BB which is pretty rare. I foolishly look down at my hand. AJs. The best hand I've had since my first hand at the table.

I'd kill for a pair or a big ace but it's just not happening so I have to look for good spots and not think about my cards too much. I'm in the four seat so my likely targets are a guy who perhaps opens a little too much in the one seat and The Camel in seat two.

Camel opens 2.5x from the hijack and I look down at KJs on the button. It's the best hand I've had for quite a while. I only have 12.5bbs and there are antes so I don't have much fold equity whatsoever. But I'm saw Hawkins has me pegged as quite tight and I know he can open on the lighter side, plus as a live player he might raise fold too much. So I jam it in.

Keith is a talker, so when it folds back to him he starts to chat to me. We have some history from the EPO. I could even be ahead here but I will take a fold every time. I just stay quiet. "You've hurt me before" he says, referencing me doubling through him the previous weekend and releases his hand.

Then on the next orbit I resteal with J8o and about 16bbs from the bb vs the one seat.

A little later Hawkins oddly open limps from the cut off. I decide that this can pretty much never be a strong hand or a pair as he does occasionally randomly limp with speculative hands, so I just jam my 13bbs from the small blind with J6o. He quickly folds.

Then I play this hand and end up below 10bbs. I'm getting desperate and it doesn't help that the guy on my left has a huge stack and likes to play hands.

Somehow I shove with something like Q6 from utg when I am down to about 8bbs and everyone folds. Other than that I just can't get into a pot first or when I get the chance my hand is so bad that I just can't pull the trigger.

Finally I ship in about 7bbs from early position with a medium ace and tournament sicko Jason Mercier takes time out from playing the game What Lodden Thinks? with Antonio Esfandiari on the next table to ship in his 20bbs behind me.

I don't get there vs his AQ and bust about ten minutes before dinner, just three members of my poker forum arriving into the casino. I finish about 60th of the 202 that began the day.

I'm quite bummed out that in both the tournies I played in London I ran one of the best hands I had into an even bigger hand and had to scratch around for the rest of the day. I thought I played very patiently for the most part, but I never picked up a run of cards or a big hand at the right time.

I have a quick drink with my fellow forum posters and it's nice to meet them, but I soon go back to my room to relax and grind a little online.

I'm incredibly disappointed that I didn't make day two in either tournament. I felt I played pretty good in the most part and the WSOPE 1k in particular was a really good spot.

Clearly I'm still learning to play live. I would expect I missed several spots and reads that I could have picked up and in the JT hand vs Hawkins I perhaps allowed him to pick up a tell on me even though it was something that I do a lot. Generally I was aware of people's chipstacks which is something that I took a while to adjust to.

It has become apparent that a good table draw is BY FAR the most important factor in a live tournament. A compliant and weak table can make getting chips so much easier and mean you don't have to get as many risky spots. I seem to recall someone, Daniel? talking about the hidden luck factor of table draws. The more I play live, the more I agree.

WSOP Main Event Day One

2010-07-07T15:32:00.000-07:00

"But most of the places that you go, the girl ain't gonna fuck you. You call the number on this card and tell them Tony sent you, you'll have a good time, if you know what I mean..."

It's 10am on Tuesday July 6 2010 and I'm in the back of a cab driving through Las Vegas.

I have $10,000 in my pocket.

Clearly there has been some kind of misunderstanding.

When I mentioned to the taxi driver that I was playing in the Main Event and then afterwards I planned to relax, he obviously took that to mean I'd like to hire a lady for night. Being the kindhearted fella that he is, he chose to advise me which escort agency to use so I didn't get 'dickrolled'. Yes he used the word dickrolled.

I take Tony's card and that of the agency, pay for the cab and walk through the 40 degree early morning heat towards the back entrance of the Rio Casino. There is even a red carpet with cold air blowers to sooth my passage to the casino entrance. I bin the business cards and make my way to the cashier where I will buy into the World Series of Poker Main event with two $500 casino chips and $9,000, mainly in $20 bills. Although I'd won most of this money a couple of weeks previously, I thought I would find it quite difficult to hand it over at the desk, but it is surprisingly easy even though it's the most money I've ever had in my hands and the most expensive thing I've ever paid for.

It takes about ten minutes for them to count all the money and process my entry. In return I get my seat card and a $10 meal voucher. Nice! I'm seated in seat three in one of the tables on the edge of the Pavilion Room. The Pavilion is the overspill area from the main Rio room. It's a vast hangar with about 200 poker tables in it and Arctic air conditioning. I'm in seat three which I always like as it gives a good view of the rest of the table. I have about 90 minutes to spare so I go and freshen up and grab some food.

How I got here?

I'd made the decision not to come and play at the World Series this year, but a last minute win in a satellite tournament changed all that. American gambling regulations mean that Full Tilt, the poker site I won the seat on can't buy me directly into the tournament and as I was too late to wire the money to the casino, that left only one option - buy in with cash!

I arrived in the US with a little under $10k, I planned to hopefully win the rest whilst I was there, otherwise just withdraw it from an ATM and buy in a few days before. What I didn't compensate for is how bad I would do!

I entered the $1,000 preliminary event the day after I landed. I was a little jet lagged but didn't think it would be a problem. I'd heard about the legendary softness of these tournaments, but sadly didn't stick around long enough to find out and was knocked out within three hours. I flopped top pair twice and was out kicked and then got my aces cracked to bust me when I was by then too short to make a fold and get away from it. The structure is very fast early on but is supposed to slow down more later on. Of course I didn't get that far.

After a bad start I decide to play some of the one table satellite tournaments that I've heard so much about. These are 10 player mini tournaments that last around 90 minutes and usually end with a two or three way chop. They run around the clock and always have a queue of grizzled gamblers ready to play. Maybe I ran bad, maybe I played bad, but I got my ass completely kicked in these and only managed to chop one in about 14 over the course of a couple of days.

I also played some cash games and although I had one nice winning day at the Bellagio, I finished slightly down in this too.

All of this meant that I didn't actually have enough physical cash to buy into the tournament I came here to play. I did my sums and worked out that if I maxed out my bank cards for the next two days I would have just enough to play. That left me a day to enjoy/endure Las Vegas before I checked into my comped hotel suite at the Rio courtesy of Full Tilt.

It's my third visit to the city and I think it's safe to now say that Las Vegas and I don't get along. I find both the desert heat and the overpowering and omnipresence of gambling to be oppressive. I hate the lack of culture and the general complete fakeness of the place.

But I was here and I had a poker tournament to play...

Day One

I took my seat along with 1,488 other hopefuls on Day 1b of the 2010 World Series of Poker Main Event. In total the field would amount to 7,319 people and it required four day ones and two second days before the field would finally all come together on day three.

My table was on the rail at the edge of the Pavilion Room. I didn't think about it at the time, but this meant that we wouldn't last long before our table got split up and we all moved to new seats. I scanned my opponents as Phil Gordon droned on about something and the rules were gone through. Eventually we hear those magical words 'Shuffle Up And Deal' and we are away.

2007 player of the year Tom Schneider is on my table, clad in a gharish blazer. He's chatting to someone he knows from the Commerce in LA, but the rest of the table seems pretty soft. There is an Italian guy who doesn't speak English and has no idea how to handle his chips or bet. Also we have an old man chewing an unlit cigar and wearing a Fox News cap (wtf?!?) - I really want to take some of his chips. I ask everyone their nationalities so I can get my regional stereotypes set and we also have a Frenchman and a slightly clueless old Venezuelan guy. Strangely, this is the second clueless old Venezuelan guy I've played against this year and the third Venezuelan in total.

At the other end of the table is a man from Alabama, missing a couple of teeth and wearing a vest, he is glaring at me a little. If you were alone in a dive bar at 1am in a town that you didn't know so well, then this might be something of a worry. Here at the poker table, the gap toothed man in a vest glaring at you is a beautiful sight. I love the Main Event already.

My first hand of note comes after about 25 minutes.

Blinds are 50/100 and everyone has around their starting stack of 30,000. Fox News limps from the hijack position in seat one. The guy on the button who I don't really have an opinion on yet raises to 400. I have 28,500 after splashing around a little. On the button I look down at pocket jacks. I decide to raise to 1275. This is clearly a mistake. So early in the tournament, 300 big blinds deep and facing an unknown opponent, it's much better to keep the pot controlable and just play post flop in position. Fox News folds and the cut off four bets to 3,100 and I throw it away disgustedly. Am I deep enough to call just to try and hit my set? Not really, as I don't know whether he is the kind of guy who is going to put a lot of chips in with an overpair even if I do hit my dream jack. I'm really annoyed with myself as play continues. I've decided that I hate getting big pairs in the first level of big deepstacked tournaments. I recall getting pocket queens the very first hand of EPT Berlin and I was terrified. With no information on the table, I was delighted to just steal the blinds.

As we are near the rail and have someone of note on our table, we have TV cameras filming us a fair bit. As I suspected though, this is only until something better comes along. When Robert Williamson III enters the room with a bevy of scantily clad girls advertising beer, I hear the call from the producer to the camera man crackle through the radio - "Quick - over to the door to get Williamson's entry!" If ever a man has managed to maintain a career as a 'TV Poker celeb' with so little recent success, then it is Robert Williamson III. If being quick witted and having interesting glasses is a recipe for longevity, then there's hope for Timmy Mallet* yet.

The first level is a disaster and I don't win a single pot. After 90 minutes our table is broken and I am assigned a new seat in the Amazon Room. To get there we follow one of the tournament staff through the bowels of the building where the waiters and staff prepare drinks and food. When I hit the Amazon Room I feel like I'm really in the WSOP Main Event. The elevated feature table is in front being filmed for ESPN and poker media are around everywhere. There's a buzz.

At my new table is a face I recognise immediately, EPT Berlin winner Kevin MacPhee. Other than that I can't identify anyone, so this is good. I don't actually win my first pot of the tournament until well into the second level, about two and a half hours in. When it happens something seems to turn around and I manage to chip up nicely throughout the rest of the day. Mainly I do this through flopping top pair, betting the flop, checking the turn and catching a bluff on the river. People are bluffing way too much but it's such a slow tournament that my opinion is that it's possibly correct to almost never bluff. I try to play solid hands and just fold if I don't connect with the board or there is a lot of action.

Joe Sebok is on the next table and has cameras trained on him all day, yet MacPhee who to me is clearly a far better player, is unlogoed largely ignored.

My poker forum friend Chris kindly checks in with me at the last break, after buying in for the following day. We chat some and he tells me he thinks Brandon Cantu has just moved to my table - Cantu has the reputation for being one of the most insanely aggressive players in the world and I play the last hour thinking it is him. However when at the close of play I find out it isn't. The lookalike is still a very good player though.

As the day goes on the table gets tougher and some of the bad players bust out and are replaced by young guys. There's an aggressive freshfaced young Swede, 'not Brandon Cantu' and a couple of other tricky players. Kevin MacPhee has a tough day but hangs in there and finishes on about 16k. He seems like a nice guy, has a good line in disparaging comments about people who act up for the TV camera and gives me a great sushi recommendation. He's from Idaho, but sadly I don't get into a conversation with him about the time I stayed there in a giant 30 foot dog. This is something I now regret.

By the end of the day I'm the second oldest on the table and it is decidedly tricky, so I'm glad when we finally get to bag up our chips and I'm sitting on 60,900. I've doubled my starting stack and I sit 232nd of the 1018 survivors. I would most likely have taken that before start of play and certainly would have after the torturous first level. Greg Raymer, Joe Sebok and several other 'big names' don't make it.

I get my table draw for day two and hope it contains more toothless men in vests from Alabama than freshfaced young Swedes.

* (For Americans) Timmy Mallet - 1990s UK children's TV presenter famous for outlandish glasses and a foam mallet. Had a number one chart hit with the song Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini. Current status unknown.

Immigration

2010-07-02T09:36:00.000-07:00

Scene: Sitting at a bar in the Gold Coast Casino, Las Vegas - 8am. The World Cup Quarter Final between Brazil and the Netherlands is on the tv in front of us. A guy sits either side of me gambling in the fruit machines which are built into the surface of the bar. Their attention is suddenly grabbed when Holland grab an equaliser to make the score 1-1

Guy on my left: Wow! That was a good score. Who are Brazil playing against.
Guy on my right: New Zealand...
Guy on my left: The names of those players don't sound very Australian
Guy on my right: They have a lot of migration there.
Guy on my left: *nods and exhales to express understanding*

Both go back to their fruit machines.

This ain't Vegas

2010-06-04T10:04:00.000-07:00

"I've always thought there was something really dirty about that girl" says the semi-well known British pro in seat ten to nobody in particular, as an attractive female casino employee walks past.

The World Series of Poker is getting under way in Las Vegas. The best players in the world along with thousands of wannabees to play for astronomical sums of money and a chance for a shot at fame and glory.

But I'm not there. I'm in Walsall, deep in the heart of the Black Country, playing a £100 freezeout. And to be fair, there's a pretty big turnout for a Bank Holiday Monday - 165 runners makes it a tournament worth winning for sure.

I'm here with my friend Joe, somewhat of a veteran of these casino crapshoot tournaments, having spent his time in the trenches in Coventry, Birmingham and *gulp* Dudley.

Sadly for Joe, he busts within the first half hour and after doing half my stack to the aforementioned known pro when I flop two pair with 4-5 suited and reluctantly pay off his flush on the river, I fear that I will shortly be going the same way. It's worth noting that the woman next to me makes me show my hand here instead of letting me quietly muck it and weep into my shortstack. "For information" she tells me. I inform her that she wasn't even in the hand at the river but rules state that I still need to show the whole table my hand.

Like all Grosvenor tournaments, it's not very well run and has certain unfathomable rules. Also of course there is a lots of breaks to let people ~~sample the roulette and blackjack tables~~ stretch their legs.

Thankfully I manage to build up my stack again, winning a big pot with 4-5 suited again, establishing something of a strange image to my tablemates. In one of the breaks I get chatting to a young guy at my table. He satellited into the tournament for £5, so this is quite a big deal to him. I make further small talk and wish him good luck as we go back to the table, making a mental note to apply maximum pressure whenever I am in a hand with him as he seems scared of busting out.

After the break we have a new dealer. She's female and Eastern European and despite the fact that she's miles better than the previous male dealer, the sexist comments from the known pro and his mate across the table begin. It's nauseating and I really wish I'd have said something about it.

They also talk about various other British sponsored pros and how most of 'em are busto.

Poker is a funny thing in that nobody really knows how other players are doing, if they are up or down, if they are broke, or doing well. No records are kept of cash games and certainly no records are kept of losses on sportsbetting or in the casino pit. There's a lot of jealousy and resentment that some guy can get the holy grail of being sponsored when they are a bad player and just got lucky in one tournament. Friends are slagged off behind their back and really, everyone is on their own and wants to win everyone elses money.

Making friends

Soon afterwards a run of play begins which leads to three people at my table hating my guts.

First I slowplay three aces and get an aggressive young internet kid to bluff off most of his stack with ten high. He accuses me of slowrolling him and is disgusted when I make him table his failed bluff. I didn't slowroll but I did make him show the bluff. "For information" I tell him with a wink to the lady next to me.

Next I call the floor on the moustached guy to my right. He's doing what has become one of my pet hates in poker, folding out of turn. When the guy who looks like Harold Bishop from Neighbours announces raise, he folds straight away before Harold has stated his raise amount, giving him extra information as he now knows he has one less player to go through to steal the blinds. I ask him not to do this, but when he does it the third time, I call the floorman who looks about 12 years old. My conversation with the floor is long and protracted as the floor doesn't seem believe that Mr Moustache is doing anything wrong. After slowly explaining the situation as one might do to someone who is hard of hearing, floorkid finally understands what I'm saying and issues the most cursory of warnings to my facial haired friend, who of course is now furious with me.

Of course, this being a crapshoot tournament, the blinds grow at a fast rate and I find myself with 17 big blinds. It folds around the the satellite winning kid on the button who opens for three times the big blind. Mr Moustache folds and before I look at my hand I tell myself I'm going to go all in really light here. The kid has about 20 big blinds in his stack, so if he loses this hand he will be crippled. Added to the fact that he satellited in to the tournament and seems quite shy and tight means that when I look down at A-4 offsuit, this is an insta-shove.

The kid goes into the tank for several minutes, his face is a picture of pain and concentration. He wants to fold so bad but he can't bring himself to do it and after about four minutes he sighs and makes the call, turning over pocket jacks. I'm let to believe that this is called a 'nit roll'.

The kid is not happy when he sees my hand and then beams proudly at his great call, adding a few comments about how bad I play. "Careful" I tell him, knowing that he is only a 70/30 favourite.

When the ace hits on the river and he is forced to count out the chips to pass over to me, he looks as if he is going to burst into tears. He is CRUSHED. But after he gave me the needle about my 'donkey play', I don't feel bad at all.

The critique of my play continues as he nurses his shortstack for the next twenty minutes before he busts, convincing me even more that my decision to shove on him was totally correct and that he *wanted* to fold, sadly his hand was a notch or two too good to do so.

As the blinds grow, I ramp up the aggression, much to the annoyance of some of my table mates. My stack goes up and down as I am pot committed to call all ins with a couple of what might be called 'speculative hands'.

Finally as we are approaching the bubble I get involved in a huge hand with Harold Bishop and another guy and the three of us get it all in pre-flop. I have AQ, Harold has jacks (which he tanked for about five minutes before calling) and the other guy has KQ. If I win this hand I will probably be top five in chips in the tournament approaching the bubble and will have the chance to dominate my table, but sadly I don't hit my hand and I'm out.

At least I get knocked out in time to catch the last bus home.

As stroll through Walsall and make my way down 'the strip', I again marvel at the fact that the old people's care centre is located next to the co-op funeral home. It's practical, but can't exactly be inspiring for the residents!

Waiting at the bus stop, I eavesdrop on a young kid having a conversation on his mobile.

"I'm crazy for cottage cheese. The one with pineapple, innit. Got two tubs for £1, and it's healthy too innit.

As I wait for the last bus of the night I ask myself - Would I rather be sipping cocktails in the Bellagio right now?

Well yeah, I would actually...

Out of the frying pan

2010-05-28T07:58:00.000-07:00

"I call" says my opponent, flecks of processed meat spraying out of his mouth and on to the felt. As I discard my failed bluff, he tables his top pair before taking another bite of burnt, fat drenched sausage and stacking his newly won chips.

I remind myself of the old poker maxim that if a guy is in a pot and he's eating, he's usually got a good hand, as otherwise he wants to concentrate on his food. However, this is a difficult rule to follow as there are no less than four people at the table eating big, greasy fried breakfasts. I should probably mention that its 1am on a Thursday morning.

I am at the Circus Casino at Star City in North Birmingham. For those not from the area, Star City is an architectually uninspiring 'entertainment' complex, located in one of the roughest areas of the city. It containins a cinema, a range of below average chain restaurants and a casino. In its defence, I should also mention that it does have a crazy golf course.

I have no idea what compelled me to come to the casino this afternoon (nine long hours ago) - it certainly wasn't for the £1 all day fried breakfasts that many of the casino patrons are eagerly stuffing into their mouths. As a marketing strategy it is an interesting one. Perhaps there is a link between meat and the propensity to play roulette that I'm not yet aware of.

For some reason I decided to come and play the weekly Wednesday afternoon £10 rebuy crapshoot tournament, even though I knew how it would go.

I would play like a maniac for the 90 minute rebuy period, much to the consternation of the middle aged men at the table. Then when the freezeout period of the tournament started, the structure of the tournament would go to shit and I would wait patiently for an ace in my hand, before shoving all in and getting bad beated.

Sigh.

Little did I know that on a Wednesday evening in North Birmingham, there would be two super juicy £1/£2 no limit cash games running, one of which I was able to quickly jump into.

I'm in the number one seat next to the dealer, who is absolutely terrible. He makes all kinds of mistakes, takes about five minutes to work out a sidepot and keeps trying to rake too much. After correcting him each time for about an hour, I give up and only say something when it directly effects me. Nobody else seems to care, apart from the over raking - they are all over that of course. The next dealer is almost as bad and its clear that they probably aren't really used to this much action.

The table is predictably full of absolute droolers and after not picking up a hand for seemlingly hours, I manage to make a guy fold a flush on the river by betting out strongly with my worse flush. The guy makes a shocking laydown as he quickly folds the third nuts face up and his face is a picture when I show him my worse flush and scoop the pot. It's this terrible grasp of hand values combined with the super loose and passive pre flop play that makes the game so good. Sadly as I can't get any semblance of a hand, it's hard to take advantage.

Despite appearences to the contrary, there is one old guy who seems to know what he's doing. In fact, he knows perhaps too well and I swear I see him shorting the pot on two occasions when he calls a bet, by splashing his chips into the middle rather than putting them in front of him - so people can't see he hasn't put enough chips in. I'm not in the hand so I say nothing, as it is not good for the game to be a rules nit and bring the mood down, and the dealers are oblivious. But I'm watching him like a hawk and if he tries any of that shit with me I'm going to be right in his fucking face about it.

The possible cheat has direct position on an old Scottish guy (osg) who is rocking the comical combination of being almost completely deaf and not knowing the rules of poker, so when someone tries to tell him what to do, it is inevitably met with the phrase "I cannae hear ye son" and a confused expression.

A woman next to me sits down with £50 and calls £2 to see almost any flop but folds every single time after that - it's almost embarassing. After an hour she's down to her last few quid without any chance of winning, but she has managed to eat a £1 fried breakfast and perhaps that's the point.

Several times all ten players see the flop and it's the most passive game I've ever played in, but it's P-A-I-N-F-U-L and I get bored, start playing too many hands and spew off my profits.

Yes, I'm a donkey.

At 2am I can't take the misery any more and I leave with £10 profit for the night, which is exactly the price of a taxi home.

The taxi driver is a talker and clearly a fan of the shortcut back route - two qualities that do not enamour me at that moment.

There's a private road in Great Barr that is badly potholed and in terrible condition. For some reason, taxi drivers LOVE driving down this road and when I feel like I'm about to be physically sick, I'm not sure if it's a combination of the potholes and the casino omlette I ate earlier or the realisation that I've just wasted an entire day of my life for no reward, sitting with a group of idiots and surrounded by the stench of gambling and meat.

There are better ways to spend a day. Particularly with a crazy golf course just next door.

Two World Wars and One World Cup

2010-04-02T08:40:00.000-07:00

“Go back home Englander”

I am sitting in a 2/2 no limit hold’em game in a Berlin casino and am not getting a warm welcome from a few of my hosts. The guy on my left is the businessman type, he’s drinking one of those overly large German glasses of beer and generally being an idiot. Being a dick is clearly something that transcends international boundaries.

So he’s insulting me in German, mocking me for being unable to speak the language and deliberately using oversized chips to bet -saying the number in German. A couple of players laugh along with him – I notice they have both had to rebuy in the hour I’ve been at the table. Clearly my businessman friend wants to be ‘the man’.

He tries to taunt me by repeatedly asking me what the score was in the Bayern Munich v Manchester United match that took place earlier in the week.

Eventually respond by telling him the game is delicately poised for the second leg, as United have the away goal and although the Bavarians are now favourites as Rooney is injured, if Bayern’s Dutch injury prone superstar Arjen Robben doesn’t return for the match at Old Trafford and with their suspect central defenders, I see the tie going either way and is probably 50/50.

And besides, I support Birmingham.

I’ve done nothing to annoy him so far apart from being a solid and aggressive poker player, but when he acts out of turn and raises when I am still deliberating my action with pocket tens, I decide to provide him with some ammunition.

Much to the consternation of several people at table, in English I seek a rules clarification from the dealer. She confirms to me that if I just call, then the raise from the businessman plays and he can’t take it back. So that’s just what I do and when the action returns to me, with a Turkish guy is caught in the sandwich, I stick in a nice healthy re- raise. This causes three people to simultaneously start gesticulating and shouting at me in German. When things calm down, the businessman folds and the Turk calls. He’s been standing up to my aggression with mixed results so far, but he is clearly after me. The hand plays out and after checking through the flop, I end up calling a bet from him on the turn and river. After my river call he disgustedly throws his cards into the muck and I don’t even have to show my cards to claim the 200+ euro pot.

Now it’s on and I have two players at the table steaming. When the businessman loses the rest of his stack against a confused old man who keeps string betting, he proceeds to fake spit at the female dealer before throwing his cards at her. The fact that he is tilting is beautiful to me but I feel sorry for the dealer, so I tell him he is being an idiot, has no class and the dealer has actually been helping him by enforcing the string bets. He now refuses to interact with me and simply keeps repeating “GO HOME” and GO AWAY” in a very loud voice.

I blow what remains of my image by running an audacious bluff with 7 high against the confused old man and proudly showing it when he folds. From then on I lock it up and play super tight for the next 45 minutes until I leave at midnight.

I leave just over 250 euros in profit which is nice win considering the high rake in the game, and which coincidently, is the exact amount of my three week sublet here in Berlin.

Maybe next time I visit the casino I can do my bit to repair Anglo-German poker relations.

Gung Hay Fat Choy

2010-04-02T08:38:00.000-07:00

It’s the evening of Chinese New Year and I’m taking my chances in a shorthanded 30/60 game at the Oaks Club. The only reason I’m in this game is the middle aged Chinese megafish to my right and the fact there is no 15/30 game running tonight. The rest of the table seems pretty solid, though not without leaks.

To celebrate Chinese New Year the card room is running an all you can eat Chinese buffet and the line snakes around the lobby. It’s unclear to me how one goes about getting a ticket for the buffet, but they are hot property and are being traded around the poker floor like cigarettes in a prison.

A man painted orange and with loads of orange balloons attached to him ambles around the room, not sure of what he is expected to do. I assume he is supposed to be a tiger, as this is the year of the tiger, but to me he looks like a man painted orange who is waiting for his shift to finish. A little later he accidently pops one of his balloons, causing the old man on the next table to me to almost have a heart attack.

As I take an open seat at the 30/60 table I realise that getting my chips tonight could be a slow process even though it isn’t a busy night.

The job of the chip runner is to take the money from the player at the table and exchange it for chips as quickly as possible. Different games require different denominations and combinations of chips and it is important for them to do the job fast so the action is not held up at the tables whilst players are waiting.

Tonight the chip runner is a lady wearing dark classes and it immediately becomes clear to me that she has some degree of colour blindness. I’m not one to discriminate but I would suggest that a job involving different colours of chips is not the ideal one for someone who is colour blind. She does her job correctly, though slowly and to my surprise the players generally give her a break and don’t moan about waiting for their chips.

Back at the table I go on an insane run and am up almost $3,000 within 90 minutes. Inevitably things turn around and I proceed to lose most of this over the next several hours. I feel like I played ok but for sure made some mistakes and had better ways I could have played certain hands. Such is the nature of poker.

At the table the discussion turns to poker and relationships. A hipster looking guy who is a good player says he keeps meticulous records of all his profits and losses so he can show his wife. Another guy says he doesn’t tell his wife about his wins or his losses at all.

As the conversation continues, the first guy confesses to having some troubles in his marriage of late that have coincided with his recent good run at the poker table. “But I thought your marriage was going well?” enquires someone across the table, “so did I!” he replies. It should also be worth pointing out that tonight is February 14th as this year Chinese New Year coincides with Valentine’s Day.

Meanwhile there is controversy brewing over at the buffet, where it emerges that one guy has been stacking his plate with food and taking it out to his waiting wife in the car park. It’s unclear how many plates he’s taken, but he clearly been able to outwit the Oaks’ security staff and smuggle out a significant quantity of spring rolls in the process.

So that concludes my time at The Oaks. My only regret is that I didn’t cash out when I was $3,000 up. Maybe then there would also have been some food left when I finally got to the buffet.

Swiss roll, kings cracked: Day two of EPT Berlin

2010-03-26T09:15:00.000-07:00

I start day two with a healthy stack of 91,700. I’m in third position at the table in chips and with a table of complete unknowns, save for German pro Florian Langmann who has a big stack.

Elsewhere at the table we have big glasses wearing Rasmus Vogt (who actually turns out to be a very good player), Slobodan Bjelbork (who sounds like a character from Star Trek) and the other big stack Simon Boss (who looks like classical conductor Simon Rattle with a shock of unkempt grey hair and plays like this is his first ever poker tournament)

Day two is a struggle for me. I never manage to increase my stack and it hovers between 60,000 and 90,000 for most of the day. If day one was one of the best days of poker of my life, then day two was one of the hardest.

Seated on table 31 out of 50, I knew my table wouldn’t break for several hours as they split the tables in reverse order, so I dig in and try and get some reads as I know I will be playing with these people for a while.

However, the table dynamic soon blows wide open when the two big stacks get involved in a huge pot towards the end of the first level of the day. It goes something like this.

Simon Boss ~150k
Florian Langmann ~125k

Blinds 600/1,200, ante 100

Crazy Swiss man Simon Boss opens from the hijack to 3,500. He has been fairly active with his big stack and managed to win a few decent pots. However, it’s clear that he is a very inexperienced player. His hands shake every time he stacks his chips or makes a bet and he is reluctant to give out change to other players despite having way more physical chips than anyone else at the table.

It folds around the Florian Langmann on the button who re-raises to 12,000. The blinds fold and it’s back to the Boss who thinks about it and puts in an extra 7,500 to call.

Flop
K T 4 with two diamonds.

With just over 25k now in the pot, Simon Boss quickly donks out a bet of 15,000. Pausing, Langmann cuts out 40k and announces raise. Action is now back on the wild haired Swiss and just like that he announces “all in”, which is quickly met by “call” from the German pro.

The hands are turned over and Langmann has pocket tens for the flopped set and the second nuts.

To the utter disbelief of the table, Boss turns over 23 of diamonds for the nut low with the flush draw.

I knew it was coming, I just knew it was coming. After the turn bricks out, the river brings that inevitable diamond and Langmann is stunned. It takes a minute or so to count out the stacks but it is soon clear that he is eliminated goes from being amongst the chipleaders in his home tournament to being on the rail. Truly a sick hand, probably the biggest of the tournament to this point and puts the unpredictable Swiss man amongst the top chipstacks in the whole tournament.

“I’ve always thought you were great against erratic big stacks” texts my friend Paul after I send an SOS message to him saying I’m finding things tricky.

It’s hard going. I’m not getting many big hands and the hands I do get miss more often than they hit. Our Alpine amateur with the big stack is getting involved in a lot of pots and is a thorn in my side as I cannot put him on a hand or figure out what he has. For the most part I have to tighten up and be patient.

Eventually the table breaks and I move to my new seat. Scanning the table I don’t recognise any of the faces but it soon becomes apparent that seated directly to my left is young aggressive German player Nico Behling. I am aware of his online exploits and don’t relish having him directly to my left. Other than that though, it’s a table of unknowns, until seat ten busts out and it is filled with the imposing presence of Irishman Jude Ainsworth.

Ainsworth is shaven headed, wearing big aviator sunglasses and a mountain of chips in front of him. It is reported that he is the current chipleader. Recently signed by Poker Stars he is clearly in no mood to mess around and is looking to get a big result to put himself on the map. His demeanour at the table is aggressive and chippy and even his jokes have a tinge of aggression. It is probably the first time I’ve ever been intimidated by an opponent.

Soon afterwards, my first day tablemate Jan Collado is moved to the left of Nico Behling and I am faced with a murderers row of three big stacked, good, aggressive players.

I continue to be patient and am able to keep afloat with a few well timed resteals. Mostly I am just playing tight and waiting for a hand but I can’t afford to do that much longer. The blinds are increasing and my stack has stayed static the whole day.
There are still about 50 people left to bust before we get into the money and I can’t just sit on my stack, I have to pick up chips.

Two orbits in a row with about 15 big blinds in my stack, I pick up Ace King first to act. Both times I don’t do anything fancy and just shove all in to pick up the blinds and antes. Nobody calls either time, though the second time especially there seems disgruntlement towards what to live players seems like a very big shove.

My thought process is this - I don’t really fancy being flat called by anyone and having to play a flop probably out of position. Miss the flop I either have to fold and be down to 12bbs with the blinds about to go through me or get all in with just ace high - Plus the fact that I am raising from early position means that people will give me greater credit for a big hand and be less likely to resteal light on me. From late position I would have opened with a standard raise but I am happy with my choice of action and I am able to pad my stack and keep my head above water.

The next orbit I pick up QQ in early position. Having open shoved a stack of 15 big blinds the past two orbits it is a no brainer to do the same again and hope someone gets suspicious of me and decides to look me up. As soon as I declare all in, Nico Behling to my left seems like he has a difficult decision. He deliberates for a minute or two before calling. It’s interesting that he chose to flat call rather than reraise. I can’t give him credit for a Hollywood acting job, so I have to put him on a hand something like AQ or TT. Everyone else folds.

Nico flips over 99 and it’s the first time I’ve been all in with my tournament life at risk. Thankfully my hand holds up and I double up! Behling still has chips and in fact goes on to finish eighth in the tournament.

Now I’m in business and I can look to increase my stack on the bubble by putting pressure on even shorter stacks than myself. One guy hasn’t played a hand for about two hours so I target his big blind two orbits in a row and an able to take down the pot.

With about five people left to bust before the bubble a big stack opens from early position. I look down at pocket tens in middle position. I have thirty big blinds in my stack and this is a difficult situation. It is too risky just to shove all in here. I have too many chips, the raiser might have a hand and there are still several people left to act after me who might wake up with a monster. I could raise but it’s an awkward amount of my stack to put in and I will have to fold if somebody four bets. What I *should* have done is flat called and tried to see a flop, but for the only time in the tournament the magnitude of the money I am playing for hits me and think to myself how destroyed I will be if I don’t get in the money now. I fold and silently curse myself. Hopefully next time I won’t be so weak on the bubble.

When it happens it is over quickly. No sooner as it is announced that there is one more person left to bust, he does exactly that and I have locked up 7,000 euros.

There’s muted celebration but players like Jude Ainsworth (who has increased his already hefty stack) and the young Germans are I’m sure already thinking of going all the way.

There is a little play left in the day but soon the bags are being given out to put your chips in at the end of the day and it is declared that there are three more hands left to play. Sadly my chips never made it into the bag.

On the penultimate hand of the day I make my exit:

Hero ~121k
Unknown man with glasses ~200k

Blinds 2000/4000 – Ante 600

I am crossing my fingers and hoping an easy few hands so I can bag up and be on my way for the night, but in middle position I look down at pocket kings and open raise to 10,500. It folds around to the big blind who is quite new to the table. He makes the call and we see a flop.

Flop T 7 4 with two diamonds

There’s about 28k in the pot and it is checked to me. I fire out a continuation bet of 20,000. I really wouldn’t mind taking it down here and now but obviously I’m looking for action. There’s no way I’m folding this hand and if he calls then I’m likely getting all the money in on the turn. However I don’t need to wait that long as I am instantly check raised all in.

I take perhaps five seconds to confirm to myself that yes, there is indeed no way I am folding this hand, so I call.

We are sitting at opposite ends of the table and as we flip our hands over I make out that he has 89 of hearts for the up and down straight draw. The dealer turns and burns quickly and when the ten hits the felt at first I think it as a good card for me. Looking back at his hand I am stuck with the horrible sight of his hand which is now sharply in focus.

Ten nine of hearts.

And the realisation washes over me that he has sucked out on me and hit his dream card, putting me virtually out of the tournament. I can’t hit a miracle king on the river and I am out.

Stunned I am shepherded over to the desk where I see I have finished in 129th place for 7,000 euros. As I am filling out my details, the 128th place finished walks over and sits next to me. He is to be awarded 8,000 euros, so if I had paused and stalled for just a minute I would have made an extra 1,000 euros. This rankles more than the nature of my exit.

---

The next day I spend my profits on entering the 1,500 euro side event. My table is incredibly soft but I make a couple of errors and am disappointed with my play as I bust before the dinner break. This leaves me break even for the week.

The facts of the matter are, this was my first EPT main event. I shunned satellites and bought in directly out of my roll. It was a gamble for a bankroll nit like myself but it paid off as I cashed. I didn’t feel at all outclassed and had my kings held up, I could have gone deep. The structure was good and I played patiently and feel I was rewarded for it. I will certainly be playing another EPT event in future, either in Berlin or elsewhere.

Pocket rockets uber alles

2010-03-22T18:18:00.000-07:00

The European Poker Tour recently visited the city of Berlin. As the city has become my de facto second home, I felt duty bound to enter. I took some money from my previous winnings, won about 1,000 euros in satellites and sold 30% of the rest of my action to get together the 5,300 euro entry fee for the tournament.

It was by far the biggest tournament I’ve ever played, but I thought there would be value. A million euros for first would surely gather a large field. The clash with the end of the Los Angeles Poker Classic and the NBC Heads Up Championships in Las Vegas would also ensure that some of the top players in the world would not be playing.

My friend Nick bought 5% of my action and I also stayed at his apartment. Nick had promised that if I busted on the first day I would be subjected to his copy of UB40’s greatest hits. It was quite an incentive to perform.

Nick is a true poker player and on the way to the Hyatt in Potsdamer Platz we discussed the pot odds of buying a train ticket. The ticket cost 2.10 and the fine for not having a ticket was 40 euros. That means that you would need to travel and not be caught by inspectors less than one in 19 times to make travelling the s-bahn in Berlin a break even proposition. We also had some extra information – Nick reckoned that the inspectors were less prevalent on the more touristy line that we were catching through the centre of town, as opposed to some of the lines that go through more residential neighbourhood. Using our reads it was clear that not buying a ticket was very +ev and after being ridiculed a few times for being a law abiding public transport user, I was soon a fully card carrying freeloader.

I played on the same start day as tennis legend Boris Becker and Germany’s most famous player – last year’s winner Sandra Naujoks. However, neither were on my start table, which was a mix of young internet kids, eurodonks and a South American. My starting table had some tough spots. Danish pro Martin Wendt sat on my left and young aggressive German player Benny Spindler was also at the table. There was another floppy fringed aggro German kid who I sat with both days and who played really good. (Later identified as Jan Callado)

Also at my table was an Italian guy in a dark suit and shades who I instantly hated. He was sponsored by some Italian gambling website or other and would chat to various Italian poker bloggers throughout the day, who fawned over his (faltering) progress. Of course, he was not a very good player. Thankfully there are also a couple of French players to provide some extra value! Finally to my right was a Venzualean guy who listened to Sting and Men at Work in his iPhone, singing along with the lyrics – if he was looking to induce me to three bet him more, his Sting singalong certainly achieved that.

There were quite a few players around who were sponsored by various online sites and from all the evidence I got from playing with them, most were pretty bad and had some serious leaks – the ‘live player lol factor’.

As a guy wandered past to an adjacent table with a foam traffic cone on his head, I pondered to myself if perhaps I had the wrong idea and if I should make a trip to a fancy dress shop if I made day two? Over on the table next to me, Swedish sponsored pro Peter Hedland was being very loud. Every sponsored pro needs a gimmick to make them stand out and be marketable and his seems to be drinking lots of beer and talking very loudly. Well if it works for him...

My day one went like a dream. I didn’t get aces, but I got a lot of other big hands and I was able to slowly chip up without much risk. The only decently sized pot I lost all day was an all in pre flop hand with TT vs a shortstack who turned over aces. Other than that it was mainly slow solid upward progress. It was one of the most enjoyable days of poker I’ve ever had. I was more than holding my own in this tournament and felt eminently comfortable at the table. I have to say it felt good.

Here’s a couple of more interesting hands that I can remember.

150/300 w/25 ante.
My stack ~40,000
Martin Wendt ~25,000
Benny Spindler ~12,000

I pick up QQ and open to 750 from the hijack. I’ve been playing a few hands but not too many and I have managed to chip up from my starting stack. Danish pro Martin Wendt three bets me to 2,000. He’s been somewhat frustrated so far and seems to have missed several flops, his stack has dwindled slightly. This is the first time he’s three bet. It folds around to young floppy fringed German Benny Spindler in the small blind, who promptly shoves 12k in. Benny has been getting involved and playing a lot of hands, probably too many hands. He’s lost a couple of decently sized pots to dwindle down to his current stack. As Spindler shoves, Wendt does a little sigh to himself and sits back in his seat. Did I mention he is wearing dungarees?

I’m perplexed by this spot and stuck in the middle. Despite Spindler playing a lot of hands, his range for cold four betting here must be very small. He should know that I haven’t been playing a ton of hands and that Wendt certainly hasn’t, let alone three betting. I’ve I’m being generous I might give him the range TT+, AK and perhaps AQs, but this is definitely his widest range. Wendt and his little sigh perplexes me. I haven’t been playing with him long enough to work out whether it is a real sigh or a fake one. Something feels not right and one way or the other I sense I’m not good, so I muck. Wendt then instamucks and tells me later he had 89s. Spindler makes a nice increase to his stack.

A few orbits later I get involved with the Venezualen guy on my right. There are two Venezuelan guys in the tournament and the second one is moved to my table after the besuited Italian busts. The one opposite is absolutely terrible and clearly what my friend Nick would call ‘recreational’. The one to my right is better, he at least seems to be able to hand read a little and knows what he is doing somewhat, though he does seem a little spewy and has poor taste in music.

Blinds 200/400 w/50 ante.
My stack ~50,000
Venezualen ~55,000

The Venezuelan opens to 1,000 from the hijack and I look down at queens in the cut off. Often I would not three bet this preflop but I feel his range is reasonably wide and I feel I can read him pretty well, so I decide to pop it up to 2,700. Everyone else folds after counting out his chips for 5 seconds he calls.

FLOP
Pot: 6,500
242 rainbow

The driest of the dry flops and probably doesn’t change anything. I still don’t know too much about his hand but I’m probably ahead, so I could do with getting some money in the pot. I really don’t want to stack off here so I will be most likely checking the flop or the turn if checked to, to keep the pot small.

I decide to bet the flop. When I bet, the hand pattern I’m looking for, assuming the board stays pretty dry, is to bet the flop, check behind on the turn and either call the river or probably bet for value. I bet 3,800.

My opponent quite quickly calls and I now assign his most likely hand as a pair between 44 and JJ. He still of course could have aces or kings or an ace high type hand like AK or AQ.

TURN
Pot: 14,100
242(T) – two clubs

The pot is growing now and I really don’t want to get check raised here, as I will have to throw it away. So when I’m checked to, I play with my chips for about 30 seconds before deciding to go with the initial plan, exercise pot control and check it back. Our villain in this hand definitely has the check raise in his arsenal. Maybe he might even do this with a worse hand than mine like AT or JJ. There is also a small chance that the ten improved his hand.

RIVER
Pot: 14,100
242T(A)

An ace on the river and my initial reaction is ‘shit, did I let him get there?’ But I don’t think that for long. Very quickly after the ace hits, the Venezuelan instachecks. And then I hear it. I’m sitting directly to his left and I hear his breath change. There’s an intake of breath when the ace hits and then an exhale. It sounds....well... disappointed. This doesn’t sound like a fake breath and I have to go with it. It seems like he thought he was good and now he thinks he is beat. I’m now sure I have the best hand and I want to get some value. I need to bet small enough so I get a crying call.

I cut out a bet of just 3.000 chips. Less than a quarter of the pot. It’s pure value and quickly our Venezuelan friend shakes his head and pays me off. When I show my queens he taps the table and shows JJ. The ace on the river cost me about 5k as I would have bet much bigger on the river if a blank had hit, or more likely, he would have bet out into me and I would have called, But I still win a nice pot and am delighted about my breathing tell on my South American opponent. I’m still unsure if should have bet more on the river – I probably should, but I don’t mind too much as I rake in the pot.

Players slowly bust throughout the day. Spindler goes out, as does Martin Wendt. The young German kid is picking up chips as is a German-Iranian guy two to my right who is playing a lot of pots and hitting a lot of hands. An English guy is moved to my left for a while and he plays good. Thankfully he soon loses a big flip and busts.

Late in the day German Full Tilt pro Niklas Heinecker is moved to my table with a short stack. He plays the short stack well and manages to chip up. Eventually we get involved in a hand where I fire three barrels with QQ on a low rainbow board and he calls me down all the way with what he claims was K high for over half his stack. He claims he was prepared to call off all of his chips with the K high and I’m not so sure. But to be fair, I think my range was highly polarised here and if he got a gut feeling, he felt duty bound to stick with it. He says he went with his read when I repopped him preflop as I went back and checked my cards before I put in the raise, so he thought this meant I was weak. In truth this is something I do a lot, take a quick initial glance at the hand as it is being dealt, then go back and take a second look when it was my turn, to remember the suits of the cards and decide if I’m going to play the hand. I guess this is a little unusual and in this case it got me paid off.

At the end of the day we chat a little as I bag up my stack of over 91,000 chips and he seems like a really nice guy and a good player too.

Famous poker players I've urinated next to

2010-03-04T00:22:00.000-08:00

The list is updated!

The rules are thus. I cannot expressly follow a poker player into the bathroom to urinate next to them, but if they are in there, even if it is a huge toilet and it is empty, I will always pick the urinal next to them, no matter how awkward this is!

Neil Channing
John Duthie
Ben Roberts
Freddie Deeb
'Downtown' Chad Brown

I cannot confirm or deny if Chad lives up to his nickname...

Sleeping in

2010-02-21T18:52:00.000-08:00

The guy in seat one is seemingly asleep at the table, a mound of chips in front of him. When it is his turn to act the dealer hits his hand on the felt to rouse the snoozer from his slumber. He will then play his hand and promptly doze off again.

The snoozer played the 30/60 game all night and it seems he did pretty decently. When the 15/30 game began at noon he dropped down in stakes and dropped off to sleep. It’s a mystery to me why he doesn’t go home, but occasionally I do wonder if some of these sick gamblers have homes to go to.

When I open raise from middle position and the snoozer rouses himself to unceremoniously three bet me, it brings a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘he woke up with a big hand’.

Meanwhile, in seats six and seven, two elderly Greek guys have got a bet on the Milan v Man Utd game. Never mind the rudimentary understanding of the rules of ‘soccer’, nor which team is which, there’s a match on the TV and it can be wagered upon! I try to get in on the action but sadly they won’t take my bet. I’m doubly disappointed about this as it is now Friday and the game took place three days earlier on Tuesday.

Elsewhere at the table, a guy who looks like David Blaine has drank six cartons of milk in the past half hour, leaving the scattered containers all over the table.

Next to him is the one man whirlwind called Cincinnati. Now Cincinnati refers to himself in the third person at all times and gives a running commentary on the hand when he is in it. At one point after laying out a river bet, he breaks into song, prompting the floorman to quip that he’s going to be kicked out if he continues as the casino doesn’t have a cabaret licence. The following day in the same game, Cincinnati will be seated next to a studious guy in horn-rimmed spectacles called Cleveland. I believe Columbus was on the waiting list at the time.

Meanwhile the action on the TV has switched to an old black and white rerun of a Man United vs Milan match from the 60s. As George Best rampages down the wing, I turn to the Greek guys and ask them who they have their money on in this one.

Big Charlie RIP

2010-02-20T11:02:00.000-08:00

Guy in Seat Ten: Have you seen Charlie lately?

Floorman: Charlie...?

Seat Ten: You know... Charlie... Big Charlie...

Floorman: Oh, Big Charlie...

Seat Ten: Is he still alive?

Floorman: Nooooo, he died a long time ago. Let me see. I won that tournament in Hayward in 87 and he died a little bit after that. Probably before this kid (gestures to me) was born.

Me: Well I think I can safely say I didn't play against him.

Seat Ten: ...(pause for contemplation) Do you remember his wife?

Floorman: Oh his wife! She was a real piece of work.

Seat Ten: Small but vicious.

Floorman: You're telling me... She had a problem with the drink.

Seat Ten: *nods*

Floorman: We had to bar her in the end. One time she got so crazy at a Blackjack table that we had to move the whole table to carry on the game. She was just screaming and wouldn't leave her seat. We let her back in eventually though of course, though I think we barred her a second time. If I recall correctly, she attacked a dealer.

Seat Ten: *laughs* Doesn't surprise me.

Floorman: She was really something.

Seat Ten: Yeah. (wistful expression) Well I guess I knew I hadn't seen Charlie in a while. 23 years... Hell of a player.

World in motion

2010-02-17T14:09:00.000-08:00

The Greek guy in seat three resembles former England goalkeeper Peter Shilton after the 1990 World Cup Semi Final - chubby, sweaty and with the haunted look of defeat in his eyes.

Greek Peter Shilton thinks I am from Denmark, as only a 'Denmarker' would play in the fashion I am playing.

Greek Peter Shilton is buying another rack of $5 chips. I am pleased about this as he is providing much of my daily wages.

Greek Peter Shilton is not a very good poker player.

The 15/30 at The Oaks is not too different to the 6/12 game. The players are a bit better. They think they are a lot better. And you get half price food. It's possible for a good player to make a lot more money at this game as they rake is a lot smaller proportion of the pot, so the house makes less of a percentage from each hand, taking less out of the game.

Today I have been playing for a few hours and running very well. I have a large stack of chips in front of me.

Greek Peter Shilton open limps from middle position, as he is prone to do. The guy in the next seat is shaven headed Asian businessman with a Blackberry. I've got him marked as a good player, one of the best at the table. He only plays here on a Saturday as his wife likes to play the 3/6. For a once a week player he's quite solid and perceptive and has the 'Jesus seat' on Shilton's left, already taking the opportunity to raise his limps a couple of times to try and get everyone else to fold and take a flop with him heads up in position.

It folds to me on the button and I look down at Jack Ten of hearts. The suited Jack Ten is one of my favourite hands as it offers so many straight and flush possibilities. Knowing that Blackberry could be raising Shilton's limp with a less than premium hand, I three bet to $45 hoping to get rid of the blinds and preferably Shilton too, playing Blackberry heads up with position myself. This is somewhat advanced play for this particular game.

The blinds fold, but Shilton with that desperate look in his eye of a man chasing his losses cannot find the fold, calling two bets cold. Blackberry also calls, leaving three of us to go to the flop.

The flop comes Queen, Eight, Two with two diamonds. It's a relatively dry flop giving me just a gutshot straight draw, but it may well have missed everyone else too. When Shilton and Blackberry check to me, I have to bet. There is $156 in the pot (45+45+45+15+10 -4 in rake), so a bet of $15 only needs to work one in eleven times to make it profitable. I continuation bet, Shilton folds disgustedly and after a second or two of thought, Blackberry calls. It's hard for me to put him on a hand here. Some kind of pair is possible, as are a lot of no pair hands and draws. He might have chosen to check raise with a Q or a flush draw, thought he may have also lead out with both of these. However, I didn't sense any hesitation in him so I downgrade the possibility of these.

The turn is the Ace of diamonds which is a very interesting card. The board now reads Qd, 8x 2d, Ad. With three diamonds on the board and an ace now on the board it could be the ultimate scare card. Or it could have it him smack in the face. I now have a 'double bellybuster straight draw' and any 9 or K will give me a straight. The diamonds are a problem though and my hand could well not be good if it is the K or 8 of diamonds. When blackberry checks to me I HAVE to bet. Again I am getting a great price to take it down if he doesn't have an ace or a reasonably sized diamond. Mentally I also say to myself that barring any reads, I will probably three barrel and bet the river too, whether I hit my hand or not. So I bet out again and Blackberry calls after a few seconds. I am not thrilled about this as I have now built a big pot with jack high.

The river is a beautiful black king giving me a broadway straight. My hand is not the nuts as of course there are three diamonds out there meaning a possible flush. But I'm highly confident my hand is good here. Interestingly on the board of Q82AK, Blackberry decides to lead out and bet on the river. This is very interesting play. I don't see there is any way that he can be bluffing here, although who knows? He must be betting for value. His most likely hand seems KQ, although Aces up is also possible. He could have also hit a set on the flop and got scared on the turn. He could of course have the same hand as me or have me beat with a flush but I have to raise him. He gives me the look that says "really?" but of course has to call.

As I turn over my JT, he does my favourite thing ever for an opponent to do at a poker table - which is stare at his hand for about five seconds, shaking his head and muttering before mucking it to the dealer and I scoop a big pot.

As I'm stacking my chips, the young internet type kid to my left says "Wow that was an interesting move there raising from the button with the jack ten, did you get that from the Sklansky book?"

"The Skalinski book?" I reply, feigning ignorance. "I haven't read that, I guess it must be American?" (I had of course already alerted the table to my novelty English boy status)

"No. Sklan-sky", he repeats "In the book he talks about three betting from the button with suited connectors to try and play heads up in position against the raiser"

I try to work on my confused face before I look at him and it obviously works because he kind of cracks a smile and says "Or I guess you were just feeling it, huh?

"I guess" I reply with mock relief, before adding "The book I read was the Phil Hellmuth one, about the animals. I always wanted to play poker like the lion you know? Better than being a donkey, right?

"Right!" he snorts back at me.

"What was that book though? Skalinski?"

"Sklansky" he tells me again, now probably regretting starting this conversation with someone he thought was his equal. "Theory of Poker. It has a yellow cover."

"Sklan-sky" I repeat slowly, taking care to enunciate each syllable and tapping my head. "Yellow cover, right. The yellow one, I'll check that out" I add, mentally picturing the book sitting on the shelf in my bedroom in Great Barr.

Although of course, I've never actually bloody read it.

Under the gun

2010-02-10T22:19:00.000-08:00

6/12 Limit Hold’em at Oaks Cardroom in Emeryville, CA.

It has been described as ‘the most ghetto cardroom in North America’ and I can see why. One of the first times I was there, a guy on an adjacent table flashed a gun and was swiftly pounced on by six security guys. That was at a No Limit table though. There is no such drama in the Limit section - after the gun incident, the middle aged lady next to me soon went back to her sudoko in between hands.

Today the game is pretty average and I’m killing time whilst waiting for my seat at the 15/30 table. The lineup is something like this:

-Your hero

-Jovial middle aged white guy who looks slightly uneasy in casual clothing. I christen him ‘Mr Friday Night Poker’ He’s the home game with business buddies kind of guy. He watches the World Poker Tour and dreams of being Phil Hellmuth. He can’t beat 3/6 but insists on playing 6/12 'to beat the rake'. I get double pleasure from taking money from this guy.

-An elderly black man (EBM) who knows how to mix it up. He probably has too much gamble in him to make him a long term winner but he’s hitting a few hands and getting paid. Mr Friday Night Poker is of the opinion that this EBM is playing too many hands from early position. He lets him know that he would not be choosing to play some of those hands, implying he is a better player. This is highly debatable.

-A couple of SAGs (sick Asian gamblers) these guys like to play hands and are looking for any excuse to get into the pot, they are the kind of guys who feel ill if they aren’t gambling on something. After a while, one of them is away from the table for about twenty minutes. When the dealer queries this with the floorman they put a call out for him and he soon comes back from playing the machines in the bar. The two SAGs know each other and if they are the only two left in the hand they ‘softplay’ by turning their hands face up and just checking it down to the river. This really fucking annoys me but there is nothing I can do about it.

-An old lady who is the most loose-passive player I’ve ever seen. She goes call, call, call and fold on the river pretty much every hand. When she does actually hit her hand she does this thing where she tilts her head to the side and then smiles a little. However this tell is completely unnecessary because you know when she does something other than call or fold then she’s hit her hand anyway. She is playing most hands so quickly goes through sixty bucks and then buys in for another sixty and then repeats this ad naseum.

Soon after I sit down at the table Mr Friday Night Poker gives her sixty bucks and I assume they know each other. Maybe she is his mum? However after several wisecracks about trying to win back his money it is clear that this is not the case. Mr Friday Night Poker has given a degenerate gambling old lady sixty bucks for no reason.

Mr Friday Night Poker is a dick.

There is another guy who I can’t get a read on. He’s a nondescript middle-aged white guy wearing a T-Shirt with a strange slogan and a trucker cap. He doesn’t seem to be playing too many hands or doing anything stupid. In this game that makes him very +ev. After a while we finally play a hand together and on the flop I notice him looking at me to try and get a read from my reaction. In the 6/12 game at The Oaks this is VERY ADVANCED PLAY! I meet his glare and try to convey with my facial expression the following information –

‘OK, I know you are good in this game and so am I, so why don’t we just stay out the way of each other and carve up all this dead money sitting here at the table and both make a small but tidy profit. Look at that guy drooling in seat three, wouldn’t you rather be playing pots with him than me? Seriously. PS I like your T-Shirt’.

It probably just looked like I had something in my eye.

Soon I get the call to go to the 15/30 game. I rack my chips and move across the room. As I take my seat I tell the dealer I don’t want to ‘post’ and survey the lineup as I wait for my first hand. These are the men that I will be trying to make money from over the next few hours. I must destroy them.

WBCOOP 2010!

2010-01-18T10:29:00.000-08:00

I have registered to play in the PokerStars World Blogger Championship of Online Poker! The WBCOOP is a free online Poker tournament open to all Bloggers, so register on WBCOOP to play.

Registration code: 605493

Albums of 2009

2010-01-04T19:13:00.000-08:00

It strikes me that magazines and websites announcing their best albums of the year is occuring earlier and earlier as they seek to outdo each other. A bit like shops bringing out their Christmas stuff in September.

With that in mind, fashionably late, here are my favourite albums from 2009.

1. Manic Street Preachers - Journal For Plague Lovers
2. The Horrors - Primary Colours
3. Crystal Stilts - Alright Of Night
4. Future Of The Left - Travels With Myself And Another
5. Peaches - I Feel Cream

6. The XX - The XX
7. 80Kidz - This Is My Shit
8. Carina Round - Things You Should Know EP
9. The Yeah Yeah Yeah's - It's Blitz
10. Miss Kittin - Two

11. White Lies - To Lose My Life
12. Wooden Shjips - Dos
13. La Roux - La Roux
14. The Big Pink - A Brief History Of Love
15. Fuck Buttons - Tarot Sport

16. The Antlers - Hospice
17. Julian Plenti - Is... Skyscraper
18. Grammatics - Grammatics
19. Flight Of The Conchords - I Told You I was Freaky
20. PJ Harvey & John Parish - A Man A Woman Walked By

21. Passion Pit - Manners
22. Biffy Clyro - Only Revolutions
23. Clues - Clues
24. Calvin Harris - Ready For The Weekend
25. Telepathe - Dance Mother

Lest we forget

2008
1. Foals - Antidotes
2. Crystal Castles - Crystal Castles
3. Portishead - Third

2007
1. Calvin Harris - I Created Disco
2. Justice - Cross
3. Grinderman - Grinderman

2006
1. Yeah Yeah Yeah's - Show Your Bones
2. The Long Blondes - Someone To Drive You Home
3. TV On The Radio - Return To Cookie Mountain

2005
1. LCD Soundsystem - LCD Soundsystem
2. The Rakes - Capture/Release
3. Art Brut - Bang Bang Rock & Roll

2004
1. !!! – Louden Up Now
2. Ikara Colt – Modern Apprentice
3. The Faint – Wet From Birth

2003
1. Yeah Yeah Yeah's - Fever to Tell
2. The Rapture - Echoes
3. Carina Round - The Disconnection

Airport man

2010-01-02T07:07:00.000-08:00

I've grown to dislike airports very much. They seem to have become a cross between shopping centres and prisons.

Malaga Airport smells of disinfectant and tastes of overpriced timeshares and package tourism. Passport control is self service.

At Palma De Mallorca Airport, a bus driver who is so relaxed that he is almost a parody of a Spanish stereotype dumps us smack in the middle of the runway between two planes, so we have no idea which we have to get on. After a few minutes a very angry management type comes screeching up in his golf buggy, directs us to our plane and then tries to start a fist fight with the bus driver. The driver will not get involved and instead just shrugs his shoulders as if to say, 'I did my best here. What do you want me to do, drive people to their actual plane? Are you LOCO?!?'

At Gibraltar Airport a road runs through the middle of the runway. When a plane comes in to land traffic is stopped by a level crossing. At the Gibraltar/Spain border we are frisked to make sure we aren't carrying more than our allocated 200 cigarettes and one bottle of spirits, just in case we deny the Spanish government some delicious taxes.

Gibraltar itself is quite bizarre. The population there is very proud to be British. But then I guess that is easy when you don't have to deal with the weather and pay taxes. A quasi British high street is complete with branches of all our favourite British shops. A branch of Norwich and Peterborough Building Society has a palm tree outside. A group of people in full old style military regalia march down the street for no apparent reason. After a couple of hours I'd ran out of things to do.

At Zurich Airport you can buy luxury chocolate, cheese and gold busts of Phil Collins.

Berlin Tegel Airport is circular, perfectly formed and run with supreme German efficiency and officiousness. However, when you go though passport control there are only two places to buy water, both of which charge four euros for a small bottle.

At Birmingham Airport you pay extremely high parking fees in order to combat terrorism. Thanks Osama.

I visited all six of the above airports in 48 hours. I believe this is a record.

Wolfgang, I'm only dancing

2009-11-30T10:20:00.000-08:00

It’s a Friday night in October and we are sitting in the corner of a very small bar just off the Reeperbahn in Hamburg’s red light district. The bar was chosen somewhat at random as a place to shelter from the rain. As we sip our delicious bottles of Astra, we survey the following scene:

The bar is mainly wood panelled. Periodically the barmaid will stand up on top of the counter and pour everyone shots. It’s a little bit rough and ready, in fact probably as rough and ready as is possible these days in the tourist friendly Reeperbahn area.

At the bar, a middle aged German man seduces his wife by dancing very, very badly. She feigns mock disgust, but the hint of a smile around the corners of her mouth betrays the fact that she LOVES his bad middle aged German man dancing ways. Now of course, I am someone who cannot talk about this subject with any type of lofty position, but from what I’ve seen, German people dance quite badly.

German dancing 101

The German style of dancing is very overenthusiastic and although it has rhythm, this does not necessarily need to match that of the music. There’s a lot of arm work going on and facial expressions are important. The idea seems to be: “yes I’m going to dance and I’m going to love it and it doesn’t matter how bad the music is because tonight I’m dancing. Yeah look at my face, take a long hard look at my face. I’m dancing! See on my face how much I’m enjoying myself here.”

Next to us is another middle aged German man with a lady, but this time the vibe is different. She’s younger and quite attractive and he has a middle aged German businessman thang going on. A bottle of champagne sits chilling in a bucket on the table next door. Our table.

And he’s dancing too. Very badly. To the song ‘Black or White’ by the Emperor Michael Jackson. And he’s mouthing the words as he jerks and jolts out of time. And he’s dancing. Yes he’s DANCING. And his female companion shows disgust, but this time the hint of the smile around her face betrays the face that she doesn’t mind too much, because this woman is working.

Every further moment this man spends dancing and drinking champagne increases the amount of money this woman is earning and lessens the chance she will have to undertake rushed and perfunctory sex with him. As he leans in and sings the immortal line “Don't tell me you agree with me, when I saw you kicking dirt in my eye” in her ear, she cracks a grimaced smile. Would she likes some more champagne? No she would not, she is drinking her current glass as slowly as possible. But he should have some more. He certainly should have some more. More money not so subtly changes hands.

More champagne means that nature calls and as he slopes off to the toilet she pulls a fat roll of money out of her back pocket and counts it, exchanging terse words with the huge, ugly muscled man at the next table. How did we fail to notice the two huge, ugly muscled men at the next table?

But our German businessman is on the case and he will not be tricked. Instead of going to the toilet he peers from around the corner with a comedic Scooby Doo expression on his face. Oh he’s wily and clever, or at least he would be, except he’s standing in full view of everyone in the room and pulling the classic gormless German businessman expression #1.

A little later on, a further ugly muscled man in a bad Red Bull biker jacket struts into the bar, hackles bristling. Yes, it seems we are drinking in The Pimp Inn. This time the vibe is different and suddenly there is and unsavoury hint of violence in the air, though I don’t quite realise in the moment.

About five minutes later, SNAP. All of a sudden fists are flying and a punch up is beginning. However there seems to be some kind of etiquette here, as amidst the flying fists, the men bundle outside to fight on the street. Yes it seems there is some kind of decorum and agreement with the landlady. No fighting in the bar.

It is in this moment, with the ugly muscled men otherwise engaged; the German businessman makes his move and suggests that he and his companion for hire leave the bar. But no, he is foiled. The girl hasn’t finished her drink, the one she has been avoiding consuming all night, so they can’t leave the bar just yet.

Thankfully I don’t see the fight and it is over quickly. Seemingly less than two minutes later about ten German police officers are in the scene including several women. A number of people are being questioned and Hamburg’s red light district is calm.

A few moments later, a couple of the bull-necked ugly muscled men peer out of the refuge of the bar where they retreated when the cops showed. In a Wire-esque few seconds, they glance left and right and before quickly strutting off down the street, no doubt to report to ‘the boss’ what went down this evening.

Meanwhile the man at the bar continues to dance on in his bad middle aged German man ways, oblivious to the carnage around him. Because tonight he’s dancing. Yes he’s DANCING.

And we decide it is time to leave the bar and go for a well deserved hot dog.

Spanish bombs

2009-11-29T10:04:00.000-08:00

I've spent the past few days on a golf course in southern Spain where I played a poker tournament sponsored by bookmaker Victor Chandler. I'd won free entry to the tournament back in the halcyon days of September when it seemed I could do no wrong at the poker table.

On arrival I was picked up at Malaga airport by a driver with a card with my name written on it. This was perhaps the most awesome part of the whole trip! When I rolled up at the hotel after an hour of Spanish football chat, I was allocated a suite with champagne, chocolates, two showers and a bidet.

After sampling all four, I went to dinner and met some of the fellow players. Almost all from the UK and Scandinavia, they seemed a little better than I hoped they might be, but I still fancied my chances. This was tempered somewhat after I saw the tournament structure sheet and realised the tournament would be something of a crapshoot.

The next day after a visit to Gibraltar which I will write about in another post, it was time for the tournament.

It was a 30 runner tournament with 10k starting stacks. Five places paid with the prizes from $10k up for $45k and the chance of doubling your money the next day by beating bookmaker Victor Chandler heads up.

I vowed to play pretty tight the first few levels and try to see flops and make a hand before turning up the aggression. However the first hand I ended up getting involved.

---

Hero (button) 10,000
Scandi in sb 10,000
Blinds 50/100

Middle position limped for 100 and I limped behind on the button with 76 of spades. The sb then popped it up to 450. The initial limper deliberated for ages before folding and I called in position and with a nice hand.

Flop: 5c 8d Kh (pot 1050)

I flopped an up and down straight draw and my first thought as the sb reached for chips was - Man, I've come all the way to Spain and I'm going to end up getting half my stack in on the first hand. But after some deliberation, the sb surprisingly decided to check. I thought about what to do here and decided to check behind and see a turn.

I saw no reason to bloat the pot on the very first hand. I had no information on the villain and if I was check raised then although the stacks would be correct for three betting all in, I'm not sure that I would be able to pull the trigger, nor would I be sure that it would be the right thing to do.

Turn: 4s (pot 1050)

A beautiful turn card giving me the nuts. The sb again deliberated before betting out 500. Just under half the pot. At this point I pot him pretty much exactly on a pocket pair between QQ and 99. I thought AK would be most likely to fire a continuation bet on the flop as would pocket aces. The other option would be pocket kings but that would be statistically unlikely.

Going with my read and with the board pretty dry, I decided just to call and give him the chance to bet again on the river where I would raise him as long as the board didn't pair.

River: 9 (pot 2050)

A lovely 9 on the river meant I still had the nuts and when he quickly bet out 1,000 I thought for around five seconds before raising to 2,500. After thinking for a minute he folded.

Perhaps waiting to the river to raise on such a dry board was suspicious. But I may not have got any extra money out of him if I hadn't waited, so I liked my play.

---

Nothing too much of note happened for a couple of levels. I won a few pots but my stack remained relatively static. Already though there was very little play left in the tournament when I picked up QQ.

Hero (utg+1) ~12,000
Button ~14,000
BB ~18,000
Blinds 200/400

I am dealt QQ second to act and with 30bbs in my stack. With the poorly structured tournament and top heavy prizepool, I'm pretty much committed to going all the way with the hand.

I open 2.5x to 1,000 and the button who has been reasonably tight, reraises me to 2,500. He hasn't played too many hands, but I do remember him opening to 5x at the 100-200 level, so based on that alone, I don't think he is a great player. Therefore his raise is not necessarily a monster. JJ, TT and 99 are in his range for sure, as well as AK and the two pairs that beat me. I am resolved to shoving, when the BB, who I'd earmarked as a good aggressive player, ponders for a moment before he cold four bet shoves all in.

I really don't see there is any way he is doing this with anything other than AA or KK. If he had AK I think he would have thought a little more and I would have detected some indecision, but it seemed to me he was saying to himself "ok here we go" before he shoved. I knew he was good and wouldn't risk his tournament on a crazy move. In the end I folded quite quickly. In fact, I think it was a pretty trivial fold. The button also pondered and folded.

I later found out the BB did indeed have AA and I think the button had AK, so it was a good fold by me.

---

I remained quite shortstacked approaching the dinner break and was mentally preparing to make a run for the buffet when I got involved on the last hand before the break.

MP ~8,500
Hero (sb) 10,100
BB ~14.000
Blinds 400/800

A poor player with no concept of stack sizes, fold equity or pot odds deliberates and then limps. He'd been limping with hands like AJ and folding postflop when he should have just been shoving. It folds to me in the SB and I look down to see A4 of spades. I'm sitting in the ten seat so I look around the dealer to the one seat just to check if he isn't itching to stick his chips in and he seems calm, so I decide to complete. BB quickly checks.

Flop: 7c, 4h, 7h (pot 2,400)

I take a second and check to see what develops and the BB quickly bets out 2,000. The player in middle position thinks and grimaces before folding. And now it is on me.

I don't know a lot about my opponent as my view of him has been obscured by the dealer for the whole tournament, but he seems pretty solid. My thought process runs like this. If he had a pocket pair, I think he would have at least paused for a moment to decide if he wanted to raise. Next, if he had a 7 then the normal play would be to check, to try and check raise or to let opponents get a free card. Now some players do just bet out with their trips here. But neither of his opponents had shown any particular strength and I didn't think he was an imaginative player, so I ruled this out.

This thought process led me to the conclusion that I had to be ahead. Either he had a worse 4, some kind of draw or complete air.

I raised all in and he quickly folded, cursing under his breath and I went into dinner slightly healthier with 20 players remaining.
---

After dinner the 500/100 level is inexplicably missed out and we go straight to 600/1200. I have only one move left in my arsenal. All in.

I duck and dodge my way around, shoving several times when I can get first in and am in late position. A couple of times I even shove blind as I can't afford to let the blinds go through me.

Finally I pick up KK and bust a short stack to go over 20k.

As we play hand for hand the clock keeps on running and the structure gets even worse. Finally we get down to nine players and break before the final table. I'm sitting in seventh place with 21.1k and the blinds at 1,000/2,000 with an ante and about to rise to 1,500/3,000.

I'm just looking to get my chips in. I start in middle position and vow to shove blind first hand if it folds to me. Sadly I don't get the chance as the aggressive Brazilian to my right opens the first two pots. Next two hands I get trash and am forced to take the blinds. In these hands the other two short stacks have gone all in and won coinflips to double up, leaving me in last place.

With just over 5 big blinds it folds to me on the button and I look down at my first card and see A5. It's an easy shove but sadly the BB wakes up with pocket eights. I don't manage to get there and am knocked out in 9th, with just my bidet to comfort me.

I really enjoyed playing live for the first time in ages, but I was sad that the structure of the tournament was so bad. I felt that with a better structure I could have been more of a threat, but I thought I played pretty perfectly, I was happy with my QQ laydown and didn't make any mistakes.

Maybe I'll come back and win it next year.

The package

2009-10-22T17:43:00.000-07:00

Recently I went to collect a parcel.

In Germany, this is not so straightforward.

After trekking across town, we locate the Berlin DHL delivery depot, nestled in between a dual carriageway and a quite frankly scary looking building complete with gargoyles and an ominous sense of authority (that now seems to have been turned into the HQ of a German Radio station).

Upon entering the building we were greeted by a scene that looked like a doctor’s waiting room. All the classic signs were there. Chairs in rows of five or six with that little bit of extra space between them to stop the spread of disease. People sitting on their own, or occasionally in pairs, nervously flicking through several month old magazines whilst repeatedly glancing at the clock and eying the person who came in before them. The occasional cough or shuffle. All it needed was some posters about herpes and the picture would have been complete.

My partner and crime and I join the queue for the counter and eventually get to speak to a very officious looking bearded German man. Once we get the inevitable language hurdle out of the way, we get on to the task in hand.

In the UK this is relatively easy. You give the bored guy at a desk your piece of paper containing the postman’s scrawl and after tearing themselves away from The Sun’s page three (or in delivery offices in more middle class areas, a Sudoku puzzle), they slope off to get your parcel. Usually, if they can be bothered, they ask for ID. In Germany things are not so simple. Forms need to be filled in!

If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from spending an extended amount of time in Germany, it is a country which likes paperwork and bureaucracy. LOVES IT in fact.

Herr Beard roots around in his draw and produces an extensive document to be filled in. I have no idea what he was diligently writing down.

He asks us what is in the parcel. We inform him it is a charger for a video camera.

Do we have a receipt? We inform him that we do not as it was ordered online. This is a problem.

The solution is this; we go to the computer in the corner of the room which is kitted out with a cutting edge 56k internet connection and find a picture of what the item is so we can show him. Okaaaaaaaay.

We go online and find the item, a picture of this is then printed off and stapled to the extensive document and given to us. We are then given a number and slope off to the seats to read the June edition of Deutsch Dentist Monthly as Herr Beard troops off to the next room.

Granted, I’m not the head of an international parcel delivery firm, but I’d say the most important thing someone should do when picking up a parcel is show ID. After offering to show ID several times our passports were waved away as unnecessary. Perhaps there simply wasn’t a box on the form for this?

We thought we’d have to wait a while but this is not the case. I’m just beginning to learn the developments in German root canal treatment that happened four months ago and considering going back to the computer to download some MS Paint stickman pornography, when our number is called and we can proceed to the next room. Obviously, as foreigners, our case is treated as urgent!

We go to the first desk in the next room and show our documents and print outs, but are greeted by a shriek of “NEEEEIIIN!” and a stern point to the far end of the room, where who is waiting for us but Herr Beard himself.

He examines the form closely, which of course he’d written himself five minutes earlier, before declaring everything satisfactory and handing us our parcel. We are then firmly instructed to leave through the exit door and not to return to the first room. I’m sure if we did this, chaos would ensue and forms would have to be filled in to detail our misdemeanors.

Beneath the gaze of stone gargoyles on the street, chastened and feeling like we’d just got out early from a school detention, we celebrate collecting the parcel and muse if we did actually go into a DHL office, or instead somehow stumbled into a scene from the movie Brazil.

Next time: Pirates, prostitutes, Nick Cave and coughing on middle class Germans over breakfast

Every Day is Like Sunday // The Wall // Pornography

2009-10-06T05:00:00.000-07:00

Sundays in Berlin have now settled into something of a routine. It is the big day for poker tournaments and generally I play around 15 of them in the evening, beginning at 6:45CET and often going on until four or five in the morning depending on how I do. There is generally a lot of money in play and it can be quite stressful. The day is usually one for a big win or a big loss, or most likely - scrambling to break even.

In contrast, Sunday daytimes in Berlin are a very laid back affair. Many shops and business are in Germany are closed, so the city has quite a sleepy vibe. People go out to have a big Sunday breakfast, read the papers and wander around.

I am currently living in the Prenzlauer Berg area of the city. It's a nice, if somewhat gentrified area - not as edgy and hip as Kreuzberg or Friedrichshain, but certainly a very interesting part of the city to live in.

Our current apartment is on the fourth floor (no lift!) and is about 100 yards east from where the Berlin Wall used to stand. As a consequence, it is at something of a dead end. There is not much through traffic and it is very relaxed and quiet, but still near many things of interest. I like it a lot.

At the end of out street is Mauer Park. The Berlin Wall used to run straight through the park, bisecting it into two. Nowadays it is a focal point for life in Prenzlauer Berg and one of Berlin's biggest flea markets takes place there each Sunday. All in all it's quite a scene.

Bearpit Karaoke
The first time I visited the flea market, I became aware of what has become a phenomenon in Berlin. Each Sunday, two guys with soundsystems on bikes ride up to a dusty amphitheater in the middle of the park. They set up their speakers and people sing karaoke for the whole afternoon. But this isn't any ordinary karaoke!

A crowd of several hundred people gather on the steps and the grass bank to watch the performances. Slightly dodgy men sell beer and snacks from their carts to singers and spectators.

It's a uniformly positive experience. Each performer gets a huge round of applause at the end of their song. There is also what I like to call the 'Stars in Their Eyes moment' during each song, where after the first line is sang and it is clear what the track is, people woop and cheer in appreciation.

Last Sunday we were treated to the following:

-An old man in a brown leather jacket singing Wagnerian Opera.

-A drugged up hippie singing The Who's My Generation whilst his wife danced beside him and his long suffering son looked on in horror.

-A girl singing Elton John's Your Song in an extremely theatrical and emotional manner, clearly directed at someone in the audience. At the end of the song her girlfriend ran on for a big embrace and kiss, to a standing ovation from the crowd.

-Many of the songs were also accompanied by a very stoned and dishevelled middle aged man in a multicoloured jumper doing breakdancing. I didn't get a positive identification, but those who wonder what Bez from the Happy Mondays is up to these days need to visit Berlin to investigate.

Check out youtube clips of some of the singers

Bargain hunting
The market itself is great. For about 30 euros anyone can have a stall and people sell every kind of crap imaginable. It is mixed between the more professional stallholders who are there every week in the same spot and the car boot sale style people who are just selling a load of their random possessions. Some of my favourite stalls include the second hand dental equipment stall (sadly only seen once so far), the guy who sells rusty bike chains and tools and the crazy hippy women with her van full of tie-dye.

Lunch at the market is an exciting affair. This time, my partner in crime and I decided to get hot dogs. In Germany this means a cornucopia of choice.

"Let me introduce the sausages" said the charming hot dog vendor, before giving us a rundown of the various organic meats on his grill. We were overwhelmed with choice and he hadn't even gotten to telling us about the ten different types of mustard on offer. I went for the Berlin standard, the currywurst. My partner in crime plumped for the more standard Bratwurst, with a side helping of sauerkraut.

Appetites satisfied, we ventured back into the throng of the market. There’s one stall we noticed before but not fully investigated. It had such things as antique telephones, military paraphernalia and loads of old photos. Further investigation revealed that there were many old family photo albums on the stall. They were mostly black and white and seemed mainly East German. It was unclear who was in any of the photos or where they came from, but it was fascinating to flick through the pictures and speculate on the stories behind some of them.

Whilst going through one pile of photos we uncovered something unusual. Near the bottom of the pile, underneath several bleak, black and white landscape photos, were several pornographic images, seemingly dated from the 70s and 80s.

Looking up from the photos, not quite believing what we’d seen, we made eye contact with the stallholder who had a big smile on his face and had burst out laughing, as did we.

Jokingly he said something to us in German, which of course we didn’t understand. Instead he pointed to one of the photo albums, which we had not yet opened. As we finally got an idea of what he was pointing at, he again pointed at the album and then, with a smile on his face, pointed over the next stallholder, an unassuming, greying middle aged German gentleman.

Of course, the photo album he’d told us to look in, which was wedged in and buried beneath much of his other stock, contained hardcore 1980s East German pornographic photos. Let me tell you dear reader, there were mullets on some of the photos in parts of the body that I didn’t think possible!

Naturally we scrutinised the face of the next stallholder to see if he really was the mulleted lothario pictured in this homemade x rated photo album. Our stallholder roared with laughter, clearly this was the highlight of his day. Meanwhile the guy next door shook his head and smiled. Evidently this wasn’t the first time he’d been the subject of this joke.

We passed on the porn and wandered on through and out of the market, back on the route towards the apartment. On the other side of the park, intense looking people played boules, whilst a band who had hooked their gear up to a generator, delivered an impromptu concert in front of an adventure playground. Around us people carried their second hand furniture back to their cars and apartments, probably stopping on the way back for some fruhstuck at a nearby café.

So in conclusion, if you want to sing in front of several hundred enthusiastic people, have a mindboggling choice of hot dogs and mustard, or pick up some homemade East German porn - Mauer Park in Berlin on a Sunday afternoon is the place to be.

Tschuss!

Neighbourhood #3 (Power Out) // Red Red Wine

2009-09-24T06:07:00.000-07:00

Well I guess I'm officially a professional online poker player now.

Things have been going really well and I've been grinding online tournaments 2-4 nights a week. At the time of writing, I'm up to #27 in the Pocket Fives UK rankings. I've won a few tournaments and a couple of weeks ago just missed out on a triple crown for winning three tournaments with a prize pool of over $10,000, on three different sites within a week.

But one night recently things did not go to plan. A couple of hours into a session whilst playing around 7 or 8 tournaments and with around $1,000 in play, my apartment where I'm staying in Berlin had a power cut.

It's pretty much a nightmare scenario and I knew that every minute that the power was out was costing me money, as my equity in each tournament slowly diminished. After lighting some candles and waiting for about five minutes, I decided I had to make a run for it. I quickly packed a bag and jogged 500 metres or so down darkened streets to the nearest major crossroads, where I frantically tried to flag down a cab. At this moment I was glad I was in Berlin, as Berlin has BARS and they are open LATE!

Taxi secured, we ambled slowly towards the nearest collection of bars and clubs on Bergmanstrasse. I didn't know the German for "If you break the speed limit I'll pay you double", so we cruised along sluggishly with the driver humming to easy listening music. My slightly agitated state did not cause the accelerator to be pressed down further

Out of the taxi like a bullet, I had the laptop out and began running down the street, repeatedly hitting refresh on the wifi network list. After a little while I found an unsecured connection, so I stopped for a moment, logged in, played a few hands (doubling up in one tournament) and then continued to move.

Eventually, salvation! - A man sitting outside a bar with a laptop. I raced in and after a quick exchange with the efficient barman (don't you just love Germany), in which I was able to locate a plug socket, the wifi password and a large beer - I managed to log on to all my tournaments. Despite missing around 40 minutes, the damage wasn't as bad as it could have been.

I wish I could end the story by saying I went on to win one of the tournaments, but that night it wasn't to be. I struggled on manfully, busting out of each tournament one by one accompanied by some of the worst music in the world.

In my haste to find a wifi connection I had been less than diligent about my choice of watering hole. And that's right, horror of all horrors, I'd stumbled into..... A WINE BAR.

This place was bad. It played a selection of the most unappetising soul, watered down reggae and accountant friendly 'dance' music that is humanly possible. Of course, they wouldn't want to offend one of the well dressed members of the Berlin's chic and upwardly mobile middle class that supped wine by candlelight and discussed property prices and David Hasselhoff. Quite what the regular patrons of the bar made of a sweaty, bedraggled Englishman hunched over his laptop in the corner smacking his mouse button repeatedly, alternately cursing and cheering under his breath as he downed several beers is anyone's guess.

Included in the Ford Mondeo drivetime mix was of course, Birmingham's finest purveyors of steaming horse terd, UB40. Several years ago I'd been tortured by UB40's greatest hits, Abu Gharib style, whilst sleeping in a German leisure centre. This reacquaintance back on German soil brought back painful memories of what I now describe through gritted teeth as 'that long night in Essen' (these memories were only partly soothed at the time by a visit the following day to the quite marvellous Bochum Mining Museum).

Also in the mix was Sade, Phil Collins, Sting (natürlich) and a lot of other inoffensive and totally unmemorable vocalists. At one point a song began that had something about it - I thought to myself that things might be about to change, but I was wrong. It seems that song was just TOO INTERESTING for that establishment and the barman quickly skipped the track and moved back on to some bland, insipid neo-soul.

So there I sat for several hours, painfully busting out of one tournament after another without cashing, being aurally assaulted and stared at by German estate agents.

People ask me what it is like to play online poker for a living. Some think I travel around with the world wherever and whenever I want, don't pay income tax, don't get out of bed before noon, don't have to answer to a boss, don't have to wear a tie, watch as much daytime television as I want.

Yes, I'll admit, this is all true. But instead, what I will tell them to do is the following visualisation exercise...

Imagine this scenario. You are trapped in room unable to move from the table for more than a few seconds at a time, you can't even get up to go and use the bathroom. Sting's greatest hits is playing loudly on repeat. On the other side of the glass in an adjacent room, the faceless and soulless members of UB40, who you only recognise by their Brummie accents and appreciation of the musical canon of Gordon Matthew Thomas Sumner, slowly and methodically set fire to over $1,000 of your hard earned money. Whilst doing so, they alternately cackle maniacally and attempt to call Ali Campbell to try to desperately beg him rejoin the band.

This, my dear reader, is the 'balla' lifestyle of a professional poker player.

Four colour deck

2009-08-26T04:10:00.000-07:00

"Send em all back, that's what I say"

"Who?" I replied, somewhat taken aback.

"The Muslims, all of them, send them back"

This was my first verbal exchange at the 1/5 Spread Limit Seven Card Stud game at the Mirage. As an opening salvo, this was somewhat of a statement of intent.

"But send them back where?" I asked in response.

"HOME" replied the elderly lady, now clearly getting agitated as she discarded her hand on fourth street. There was heavy action of a $2 bet from a man across the table, who from first glance, it was difficult to distinguish whether he was alive or dead.

"But most Muslims in the UK were born there" I stated matter of factly, as I brought it in with my three up.

"SEND EM' BACK" was the unequivocal response from the lady.

Clearly we weren't getting anywhere fast in this debate.

The elderly moustached man sitting next to me now chimes in, "They're all terrorists anyway, those a-rabs"

"You really think that?" I inquired somewhat incredulously.

"Damn straight" he emphatically answered, as he applied the heat with a fifth street bet of two dollars which was too much for his opponent, a sweet looking old lady who had thus far not revealed any prejuduces of her own.

I was only playing this game whilst I was on the list for the 1/2 no limit game, but when the floorman called me over the tell me that my seat was available, I knew I had to stay here at Racist Pensioner Stud Club (RPSC). Average age of the table must have been around 75, and needless to say, this proved to be my favourite game in the whole of Vegas.

The hotshot arrives

The game was slow of course and as I folded several hands in a row I considered my options. Should I argue with these people, call them racist, rile them up, ask them what they think about them there homo-sexuals? Or should I sit here and try to take some of their money (extremely slowly).

Fortunately I didn't have to make a decision, as a well dressed middle aged man in sunglasses took the open seat on the table.

1-5 Spread Limit Seven Card Stud is like this. Three cards are dealt to each player, two face down and one face up. The person with the lowest up card brings it in for $1 and then there are five rounds of betting where each player can bet or raise between $1-$5. Each player receives four more cards, three face up and the last one face down. There are no blinds or no antes, just the solitary $1 bring in. Clearly this was not an action game and the old folks were content to just bet $1 or $2 each street. Once someone bet $3 and the rest of the table insta-folded with looks of shock and fear on their faces. Like I say, an action game.

This new young hot shot (he was about 45 years old) had other ideas.

"You don't have to bet five bucks on every street you know son" pleaded the half dead looking guy, clearly exasperated. This big bet action was obviously not good for his health.

"Ahh know" replied the hot shot in a thick southern accent, now actually chewing an unlit cigar. He'd dragged in three or four pots in a row and the lack of racist comments for the past few minutes indicated that the rest of the table clearly had something to new to ponder.

And so it was that my rush of cards dictated that I was the one who was destined to stand up to this interloper ruining our little casual prejudiced game of cards.

First I spiked a small two pair on fifth street and hung on against his $5 bets on fifth, sixth and seventh and was relieved when it held up against his kings. Next hand I had a myriad of straight and flush draws in my four exposed cards and made the hotshot fold an open pair of fours in a decently sized pot. Finally a few hands later I began rolled up (the best opening hand in Seven Card Stud, three of a kind) and waited until fifth street to pull the trigger and check raise to get full value from the two pair of the hotshot.

When he lost the last of his chips a couple of hands later and strutted off, an audible sigh was heard around the table (and that wasn't just from the guy who had breathing problems).

Mr racist moustache man turned to me and said "Well done son, that sonnavabitch deserved it"

"But he wasn't even Islamic", I wanted to, but sadly didn't reply.

Then I received the heartiest and strongest pat on that back that I have ever been the recipient of. "I'm proud of you son" praised the racist old man, smile beaming from underneath his grey facial fuzz, "you really showed him not to mess with us".

I was now one of them.

Time to leave

As the game returned to its monster $10 pots, there was clearly nowhere else to go from here, so I left the table shortly afterwards.

"Send em back" the old lady exclaimed one more time, winking at me as I racked up my now not inconsequential mound of $1 chips. I sighed as I made my way to the cashiers cage, knowing that all was right with the world in one corner of the Mirage Poker Room in Las Vegas.

So there we have it, possibly one of my greatest achievements in poker, I'd earned the respect and admiration of a racist old man with a moustache and made friends with a prejudiced geriatric woman.

WSOP main event final table or not, I wonder if Phil Ivey has ever achieved that?

Men aren't at work?

2009-08-06T02:02:00.000-07:00

All I'm saying is:

I wrote this in April - http://thisboguspoetry.blogspot.com/2009/04/detailed-analysis-of-song-down-under-by.html
The BBC published this a few days ago - http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/8178913.stm

I will inform Tristan, my lawyer, when he gets back from his family break in Tuscany.

IS THIS WHAT I PAY MY LICENCE FEE FOR??????

Whatcha talkin 'bout Willits

2009-05-28T14:33:00.000-07:00

Willits, California is not somewhere I’d recommend to the casual tourist. But for the road tripper, I feel the experience was a vital rite of passage. My companion and I left Oakland late and drove for around three hours before hitting our destination. On the way we’d stopped for a classic roadtrip burger from In and Out, a place in America that is after my own heart by having only about five items on the menu. One thing that I’ve begun to hate in the US is choice for food and drink. Just give me a few options and I’ll decide, don’t give me infinite choice – my British brain just gets all confused and hurty.

Arriving in Willits the action was slow. It seemed there wouldn’t be any tourist sights to view the next morning and we soon found a road with about ten motels on. With such a range of options some might decide to go for quality and which one looked the best, some might go for a chain that they’d heard of which would hopefully provide some kind of basic standards. We chose the one with the biggest neon sign. The Lark. And let me tell you, at midnight to a tired road tripper, that sign looked mighty impressive. What sealed the deal was a picture of Shiva hung behind the desk at the counter.

We rang the bell on the front window three times but with no answer and were about to give up when a yawning elderly Indian lady (EIL) emerged from the door and gave us a glare which conveyed the message “I can’t believe you weird looking fuckers have just woken me up, you bastards.” We then negotiated the booking of the room through a glass panel of the kind you get at late night petrol stations. Communication proved tricky with the EIL and eventually when most of the details were completed we gave her our booking card and she passed us the key. No have a nice stay, no good evening, no thank you - just supreme indifference. When we asked if that was ok, if we were good, she merely waved her hand at us with a dismissive contempt. Her total anti-customer service attitude was one I’d encountered before in Poland and in this nation of ‘Have a nice day’, I actually almost respected her commitment to sheer hatred of the customer.

And what a treat we were in for - Grandma sheets, holes in the curtains and an ancient TV. Still it did seem pretty clean if you don’t count the dead wasp on the bathroom windowsill, but I got the feeling that a horrific murder had occurred there sometime previously. On a business card pinned to the mirror, the motel billed itself as ‘Willits finest’, something that I didn’t entirely believe was true unless it was claiming Willits’ finest dead wasp.

The next morning we were awoken at 8am by a Harley Davidson revving loudly and persistently and the woman next door screaming “Shut the fuck up”. She had windchimes outside her room and was clearly a more permanent resident. I wasn’t planning to meet her so we soon bid a hasty retreat and got on the road.

Chip dumping

2009-05-28T14:20:00.000-07:00

*Warning if you don’t want to know what happens in toilets in Las Vegas at 4am then you better stop reading now.

A lot of people have asked me if I am playing the World Series of Poker this year, as it is taking place whilst I am in America. My answer to this question is no. In truth I am a bit over Vegas right now and the thought of going there in the stifling temperatures of late may or early June is something that doesn’t excite me one bit. Though naturally, I would like to visit the pinball museum again.

My epiphany, my Vegas nadir if you will, came one Friday last October, at around 4:30am, in the toilets of Harrah’s hotel and casino. I was playing in a pretty crazy poker game. There was a Frenchman who had all the money despite not knowing how to play. He had over $1500 on the table and he was willing to gamble and go all in on a whim. Two kids were randomly going in blind for $100 at a time and a couple of other players who weren’t too hot including one who’s catchphrase everytime the action passed to him was “what can I do again?” Like I say, it was a good game. Possibly the best 1-2 no limit game going on at that moment in the whole of the city and I was in it.

But I was stuck. After being down three buy ins (-$600), I had clawed about $250 back. The truth is that I was dead tired and felt I wasn’t playing my best. At any other time I would have gone to bed, but there was no way I was going to leave that game whilst the Frenchman was there with over a grand and a half in front of him. A good hand was all I needed. It was a waiting game.

I had adjourned to a nearby restroom to use the facilities and freshen up. I knew I had to be alert to try and get a read the next time I had a hand and the Frenchman decided to play a big pot. In his bad English he liked to talk and I was sure I could have a good inkling as to what he had if I was observant enough.

As I stepped up to the urinal, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Now, it was hot in Vegas, even in late October, so I was wearing sandals. This meant that extra concentration was needed on my aim. Male readers will know I’m talking about the splashback…

Therefore at first, I didn’t notice the voice in the background…

Then suddenly I hear “I know you are there, I can hear you pissing”. Silence again and then “can you help me?” I looked around and there was nobody there. I continued with my refreshing urination. And again “help me”… “I’m in the stall” And then a loud anguished wail.

OK, well I’m a nice guy, so I craned my neck slightly to look under the door of the stall. In retrospect this was probably a mistake. What I saw there was something that will stay with me for the rest of my life.

In the space of around half a second I saw the following things. The floor was covered in poo. Why I hadn’t smelt it on the way in I’m not sure, but I was probably focused on how I’d just got sucked out on in a hand. Again.

Then I noticed that like me, the man in the toilet was wearing sandals. Then I noticed he had poo all over his sandals. Then I noticed that there were blue $1 casino chips mixed in with the poo.

This was a disturbing vision and after processing it in my mind for a few seconds I did something that I still can’t quite explain. I craned my head and looked again, this time for longer and this time the vision was even more disturbing. In amongst the poo and casino chips I saw two fat trembling hands searching through the excrement seeking to recover those now brown $1 chips. And let me tell you, these chips weren’t just resting on the top. Oh no. There was a chip poo casserole going on there down on the floor of the bathroom stall.

My question to you my dear readers is this… How high would the denomination of casino chips have to be for you to pick them out of your own poo? (Feel free to write a figure in the comments box)

On the way out of the bathroom to look for assistance from I have no idea who, I passed two casino security guys making their way towards the door. One of them was putting on some rubber gloves.

Tough break, fellas.

I later bumped into Mr Poo Chips’ brother and asked if the guy was ok. In return I got some raised eyebrows and a ‘what can you do?’ shrug, which indicated that this wasn’t the first time that his sibling had got drunk and rolled around in his own feces.

And the poker game? Well I won a little back but still ended up down for the night when the game broke at about 6am, about one millisecond after the Frenchman left the table with over $2,000.

I went back the next day and he was there again, but this time with just $100 in front of him and a new word in his English language repertoire. Fold. He was going home later that day and had his trip paid for and profit locked in, so he wasn’t doing anything stupid and there were no crazy all ins. I knew the feeling as I had done this myself the previous year on the last day.

Much like going all in blind with five two off suit, searching around in your own poo for $1 casino chips is something that probably seems like a better idea at 4am than in the cold light of day.

A detailed analysis of the song Down Under by Men At Work (with mild racism towards Australian people)

2009-04-20T13:41:00.000-07:00

It's one of the finest songs of its generation, but one that has been sadly ignored by music historians and scholars. Until now...

Traveling in a fried-out combie
On a hippie trail, head full of zombie
I met a strange lady, she made me nervous
She took me in and gave me breakfast

The opening to this strange tale. Our narrator it seems is backpacking around Europe in a camper van whilst listening to White Zombie. I would encourage any Australian backpackers not to hang out in red light districts, let alone have breakfast with European prostitutes, particularly if feeling uneasy and unsafe. It's certainly not a good way to spend a gap year and it won't impress on your CV when applying for jobs in the future.

And she said,

Do you come from a land down under?
Where women glow and men plunder?
Cant you hear, cant you hear the thunder?
You better run, you better take cover.

Clearly this makes no sense whatsoever. I can perhaps understand why European prostitutes think Australian men plunder, but why would they think Australian women glow? I'm mystified.

The next verse requires a more detailed line by line analysis...

Buying bread from a man in Brussels

OK - Our hero is now in Belgium. He's in a bread shop. A man works there. Although it's not clear a shop is involved, he may have just offered some money to a man on the street for bread. Typical Australian behaviour. So far so good though.

He was six foot four and full of muscles

This is where this particular tale from our Antipodean songsmith hits problems for me.

How about if he was in Ghent, would he have met a man carrying a tent?

If he'd been in Liege, would there been a siege?

I really have no idea what would have occurred if he'd been on a day trip twenty miles from Brussels in the town of Geraardsbergen.

I said, do you speak-a my language?

I assume he means English, despite the fact that the word speak-a is not in the dictionary as far as I can see. Although presumably if he'd already placed his order he would have already spoken. Unless he did the pointing thing.

He just smiled and gave me a vegemite sandwich

Now I'm really starting to not believe this story. An Australian is in Belgium buying a snack from a tall well-toned gentleman. What are the chances of him receiving a sandwich containing some kind of bizarre Australian sandwich paste without even asking for it? Slim I'd say. Unless he was in some kind of Australian themed sandwich bar, which seems possible when the following information below is revealed.

And he said,

I come from a land down under
Where beer does flow and men chunder
Cant you hear, cant you hear the thunder?
You better run, you better take cover.

What are the chances of that? The other guy is also Australian. The fact that he chose to wait for a verse and half a chorus to reveal this information to a fellow countryman is kinda rude in my book.

Now the second line clinches it. He's essentially saying. "Yes I'm from your beloved country, Australia, the motherland, famous for men drinking beer and puking up."

Then is starts raining. Of course neither Australian is adequately protected from the weather with a raincoat or wellingtons, so they need to seek shelter.

To conclude, let me say that I don't think this open air Australian themed sandwich bar in Brussels will stay in business much longer. It's a very niche market they are aiming for. In my view, this narrow focus combined with the lack of undercover seating could spell trouble for the future of the cafe. I suggest the owners branch out into more international food, perhaps soups and desserts from around the world. They could also employ more communicative staff who don't sing about sick whilst serving customers.

Lying in a den in Bombay
With a slack jaw, and not much to say
I said to the man, are you trying to tempt me
Because I come from the land of plenty?

This trip has taken a turn for the worst. He's in India in a crack den. Again, it's not going to look good on the CV mate, why not go and see the Taj Mahal? Someone is trying to make him take more drugs, but then he brags that there are already lot of drugs in Australia.

And he said,

Oh! do you come from a land down under? (oh yeah yeah)
Where women glow and men plunder?
Cant you hear, cant you hear the thunder?
You better run, you better take cover.

This is getting ridiculous. Our humble narrator is clearly backpacking but surely he can find room in his rucksack for a small waterproof coat or perhaps foldable travel umbrella. Especially if he keeps ending up in thunderstorms. Unless he sold it to buy crack.

And what of the surprised Oh! Perhaps he offered the other guy a vegemite sandwich.

Conclusion

The subject matter of the song Down Under by Men At Work is a clear fabrication and this band have been misleading the public for years.

Quite frankly I'm shocked and outraged by what I have discovered. (oh yeah yeah)

Putting the sex into snooker

2009-04-14T15:11:00.000-07:00

I notice snooker authorities recently announced plans to make the sport more exciting and try to replicate the success of Twenty20 cricket. It's an ambitious plan and it involves...

*drumroll*

Having less balls on the table

As far as I can see - That's it.

Is having less balls on the table going to make someone who has never watched snooker before suddenly decide to watch?

"Oh wow I love snooker now, there's far less of those confusing red balls. What do you call them?"

"Reds"

"Yes far less reds, I like it much better now without those reds"

It's just not going to happen.

So therefore, I announce my five ways to make snooker sexier and more appealing to the general public.

---
1.Make drugs compulsory
---
I've had enough of this campaign to get drugs out of sport. What we need is more players playing whilst high as a kite.

What I suggest is this.

One hour before the match in the dressing room, each player is required to take a mandatory ecstasy tablet Then hard house, trance and happy hardcore is pumped into the playing area during the match at full volume. If frames are even then instead of a respotted black, a dance off takes place.

An alternative is each player is provided with a spliff roller and then smokes cannabis during the frame whilst the other player is taking a shot. I mean, those chairs look mighty comfortable. Munchies will also be provided.

---
2.Strippers
---
A strippers pole to be installed in the centre of the table. A stripper dances during each frame and the players play around her and the pole. Double points on offer for a shot that goes through the arch of one of her 6 inch clear wedge heels. Winner of each frame gets a private dance in the 'VIP lounge'.

---
3.Convicted criminals to referee matches
---
As part of a rehabilitation process for dangerous criminals, prisons should teach particularly violent or angry criminals the skills of snooker refereeing so they can do this on a day release basis. Not only will it give them an inner calm, it also helps them with numeracy and diplomacy. It will save the snooker authorities money and they will also be doing a valuable service to the community.

3a. An alternative is to get Mr T to referee snooker matches. Or even other celebrities. You could even turn this into a prime time TV show featuring a host of minor celebrities competing to be the top snooker referee.

---
4.Make snooker more Goth
---
This one is a guaranteed winner. How can we tempt more young people into the game of snooker? Goth it up! Hey, it's surely no coincidence that the black ball is worth the most points...

Black nail varnish and eyeliner are mandatory and players much dress in full Goth attire and pass strict Goth club bouncers to get into the playing area. Any player refused entry for 'streetwear' will be forced to forfeit the match.

Smoke machines in operation throughout the match and cider and black on tap for players and the crowd.

Andrew Eldritch from the Sisters of Mercy to become the official Goth ambassador for snooker (Well he's available and looking for work)

Bauhaus to reform and record a cover version of Chas and Dave's Snooker Loopy

---
5.Combine snooker with Gladiators
---
What better way to sure up two fading British institutions than to combine them together. The options are endless:

Following Charlie Brooker's observations, players are to be given gladiator style nicknames that sound like gay nightclubs. Thus we get Peter 'Eros' Ebdon, Stephen 'Rawhide' Hendry and Ding 'Cock Ring' Junhui.

Foam added to the bottom of cues so they can be turned around and used to joust against gladiators.

A moving platform (or travelator if you will) to be installed around the table for players to run up before taking a shot.

Players required to shout "AWOOGA" as loud as possible before breaking.

Gladiators swing giant foam balls at players as they are attempting to take shots whilst standing on small unstable platforms above water.

Crowd given large foam hands and taught the full lyrics to Queen's 'Another one bites the dust'

Referee John Anderson to oversee proceedings in his inimitable grumpy and humourless Scottish style.

After winning a frame a player must complete an obstacle course around the arena - Not as easy as it sounds - Have you ever tried climbing up a cargo net whilst carrying a snooker cue?

---

I mean - surely some of these things must be worth a try, right?

---

Next week - Putting the glamour back into lawn bowls

Preaching to the introverted

2009-04-08T13:26:00.000-07:00

Oakland, California - 10:30AM

*Knock at the door*

I peer through the net curtain. It is an elderly black man. I do not know this man, so I am about to make the decision not to answer, when I notice his most excellent hat.

I curse my love of hats.

I notice I am wearing my pajamas inside out.

I open the door.

I smell religion.

ME "Hey..."

Elderly Black Man "Good morning sir, how are you today?"

Me "Err yeah, alright thanks" (looks quizzically)

EBM "I'm here to tell you about the lord"

Me (actually groans) "OK, well what about him?"

EBM "Would you be willing to let the lord into your life?"

Me "Sir, you've knocked on the wrong door here, I don't want to waste your time. I'm a nihilist. I don't believe in anything"

EBM (Visibly taken aback) "You believe in nothing at all?"

Me "That's correct"

EBM "Do you believe I'm real?"

Me (narrowing eyes, tilting head and smiling) "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt"

EBM "Do believe in government?"

Me (very very confused) "What?"

EBM (holds out leaflet towards my hand)

Me "To be honest with you, organised religion actually physically disgusts me"

EBM (physically takes a step backwards)

FIVE SECOND PAUSE

EBM "Can I provide you with some information to try and change your mind?"

Me "I like your hat"

FIVE SECONDS OF SILENCE

EBM (shakes head and sighs before walking away) "Have a nice day"

Too many mutha uckas

2009-02-27T06:33:00.000-08:00

"Mate, you swim like a dickhead..."

I'm in a small swimming baths in the suburbs of a provincial English city.

I like to keep fit, though I've never ever been to a gym in my life, therefore swimming is a good solution. When I was about fourteen, I swam a mile. I have no idea how I did that.

I would describe my swimming style as unorthodox. I guess this stems from my only real fear or phobia. Going underwater.

I can't explain this fear and it makes no sense. I have no idea where it came from but I've always had it. It must be something to do with not being able to breathe, but that is not everything. Any others I've had, heights, needles - I've conquered without a problem. This one sticks.

I remember when I was at school, I think probably the only detention I ever had was when I got into an argument with the PE teacher after I refused to dive to the bottom of the pool and get the brick. I said no, then I ended up getting out of the pool and totally refusing to even try. I just couldn't do it.

When I swim, it is a bit like a dog. My neck cranes and my head sticks out of the water. And sometimes there is a lot of effort for very little movement. I am better than I was, but I'm sure it looks a little strange.

Last week was the school holidays. Bad news for swimming, but I needed a bit of nager nager. It was packed with kids breaking all the rules of the pool - splashing, bombing, heavy petting - it was all going on. The lifeguard watched on gormlessly, whistle hanging dormant around his neck. When I'd got there, the guy at the counter raised an eyebrow at me as if to say "are you sure you really want to venture in there?"

"Yes" I replied in my mind as I searched my wallet for the correct change to use the lockers, "I'm going in."

I was ready. I was brave and prepared to dodge the inflatables and hormone fuelled adolescent teenagers.

It was going so well and I was slaloming through the parade of obstacles in my path as I did my lengths. Then confrontation hit.

You know in the wild west movies when the two cowboys face up to each other and there is tension filled incidental music? Well here in Bramley Swimming Baths on a midweek afternoon, this was my wild west moment. The only differences were that we didn't have guns, we were both wearing swimming trunks and one of us was about thirteen. So only three real differences there from those old movies. Everything else was basically the same.

As I swim up to the deep end, the kid hits me with his best insult. He's been working on it, you can see. How to best impress his friends. Some time has been spent on the sentence construction and tone here. And it's not easy for him to say it, he blurts it out.

Let's analyse.

Mate - A friendly opening designed to suck me in before he hits me with the killer punch. Like a check-raise in poker. He's cunning this boy, I'll give him that.

Dickhead - Another interesting choice.

Firstly, perhaps he doesn't know any real swear words? Though I find this hard to believe.

Secondly, maybe he's scared that if he uses too strong a word I'm going to deck him or steal his pocket money?

And thirdly, how exactly does a dickhead swim?

Now, a dilemma, what do you do when a thirteen year old kid insults you? It's a difficult problem at the best of times. When you are doing a slightly awkward doggy paddle it complicates matters further.

I did what I do best. I gave him a dirty look. The one I use on people when I think they are trying to bluff me at the poker table. Trust me here, it's a good one. I think that did the trick, his chortling subsided and he fixed me with a stare of his own, but as he was only thirteen, a lot of work clearly had to be done with his glaring. To be honest, it was poor and lacked penetration. Thus. I win.

And then I used my killer move. As I pushed off to swim back to the other end of the pool, I kicked my legs really hard and completely splashed him with water. It was smooth. Trust me, it was smooth.

That's cus I'm a mean mutha ucka and I don't take anyone ucking with my shi...

Some of my favourite music videos

2009-02-14T08:05:00.000-08:00

For no apparent reason whatsoever, I wanted to tell you about some of my all time favourite music videos.

As a child of the MTV generation, music videos have always been really important to me. Some remind me of certain points in my life, others of certain people. Mostly they are just three and a half minute distractions.

I'm not saying these are the best music videos ever, but for a variety of reasons, they are some of my favourites.

10. Depeche Mode - Enjoy The Silence

Here's my theory. Dave Gahan is on his way back from a monarchy themed fancy dress party. It's late/early, the sun is just coming up. He takes a wrong turn just outside Basildon and finds a deckchair in a skip...

I have no idea what was on Anton Corbijn's mind when he came up with the concept for this video, but I'm mighty glad he made it.

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9. Bronski Beat - Smalltown Boy

Firstly, I genuinely and truly love this song.

The crux of the video is that Jimmy Sommerville has a homoerotic encounter in a swimming baths and then eats his lunch on a train. Doesn't sound the most riveting, but never has a music video been so starkly poignant and yet so utterly hilarious at the same time.

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8. PJ Harvey - This Is Love

Just because. OK?

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7. Army of Lovers - Crucifed

When I was growing up, for some reason or another we had German MTV rather than normal MTV. As a consequence, I was exposed to more eurodisco anthems than was probably healthy at such a formative age. Perhaps this is why I now have a penchant for visiting gay bars despite the fact that I am completely straight. This one is my favourite eurodisco song of them all.

The video is truly, truly bizarre, completely camp and ridiculously over the top! The gratuitous cleavage shots, the miniature piano, the dog and cat on the chair, the revealing wedding dress, the bathtub, the swordfight, the bed in the cage... I could go on... Genius!

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6. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Do You Love Me?

Whenever I am in a bar alone, writing, I dream I am Nick Cave in this video. However instead of Pedro, Luiz and Madalena, I'm usually surrounded by the likes of Dave and Kev from the building site down the road, Doreen behind the bar and Murphy the one-eyed Irishman. And I am brought down to earth and remember that nobody can ever be as brooding and cool as Nick Cave.

Mention has to be made of the truly terrible and inexplicable 'dad at a wedding' style dancing that begins 1:45' into the video. Possibly some of the worst dancing ever recorded on celluloid.

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More soon...

Sunday Warm-up final table

2009-02-10T10:13:00.001-08:00

On Sunday I finished 8th out of 4,394 players in the Sunday Warm-up on PokerStars for a cool $10,985. I don't play tourneys very often and it's my biggest ever tournament cash. It was nice to make it in probably the second most prestigious weekly online tournament.

This was only the third time I've ever played the Million or the Warm-up and I enjoyed it a lot, though it was pretty nerve racking near the end. I managed to get hold of some chips early thanks to some kind donations and one or two suck outs and I was 10th in chips at the first break. From then on things got rolling and eventually some nine hours later we were at the final table.

In the time in between I played on the same table as some great players (Kenny 'Kenny Rap' Weinstein, Anthony 'D1rtyR1v3r' Nardi and Kevin 'BeL0WaB0Ve' Saul), as well of course as some complete donkeys.

I felt like I learnt a lot from playing such a lengthy high profile tournament - The way things change at different points, the importance of the dynamic of the table and your own table image.

I don't even think I am that good at tournaments, but I was able to use the things I've picked up in the past few months to play a pretty solid game with occasional aggression. I thought I played well, generally stole my fair share of blinds and also put in a few nice resteals at crucial times, even tangling with Kevin Saul on a few occasions.

Below are ten hands from the tournament along with a little bit of analysis. Let's hope I'll be writing about another big final table soon.

Hand #301

This is where things kickstarted for me in the tournament and I thought I could do something. An open raise from Carlito who is running at 31/19 and involved in a fair few pots. I elect to raise from the big blind with AJ. His opening range from the hijack is reasonably wide, so I think this is ok, though perhaps a call would have been better to try and play post flop. If he four bet shoves me here, then I think I may well fold in this spot.

The K69 flop gives me nothing more than a nut backdoor flush draw and some overcard possibilities and I check with the mind to probably give up on the hand if he fires. I've put myself in the position where a continuation bet of any kind is decidedly awkward, therefore the preflop raise by me seems like it was a mistake. Surprisingly he checks behind. The turn brings a third club and I decide to seize the chance. Smelling possible weakness after Carlito's flop check behind, I shove all in for 148k into a pot of 144.5k and am called by pocket queens with the queen high flush draw.

And of course I get there and hit my 25% shot on the river. This one sends me dancing around my lounge.

Was it a good shove? I'm not sure, but I felt the pot was there for the taking and went for it. He certainly didn't have to have a hand as strong as he did. So I don't mind my play here at all on the turn. My pre-flop and flop play is another matter.

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Hand #332

Carlito is again the villain and I am now more than aware of his unconventional play. A standard open raise with AK is flat called in the big blind. With a flop of 4JQ all hearts I have two overcards, a gut shot and a backdoor king-high four flush draw.

It's checked to me and I check behind. I think I like my play here. The flop quite possibly hits a fair bit of his range there giving him pairs, a variety of straight draw options and perhaps some kind of heart draw too. If I continuation bet, he has a nice stack to check raise all in where I will be faced with a very tough decision indeed. I have a lot of draw options and my hand may even be good right now, the pot is still manageable so I think the check is the prudent play.

The turn is 8d which is a virtual blank, though it does mean he gets there if he has J10. He bets 2/3 of the pot and I choose to flat call. I could elect to raise all in myself here but I do worry that he might have some kind of pair with the ace high flush draw combination which would leave me in decidedly bad shape. I'm in a tricky spot now, especially if and ace or king hits on the river. Of course my AK high may still be good and he may just check and give up the river if he has nothing at all.

The river is a heart giving me a king high flush on a paired board. He bets 96k into a pot of 172k and the clear play here is to just call behind. I think it's a complete zero play to raise all in here, I'm not sure any worse hand is calling (q and j of hearts are out) and there is no need to risk my entire tournament. He shows 54 which I think was actually a good gutsy bluff bet on the river, turning a made flop hand into a bluff. But thankfully I managed to get there.

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Hand #382

D1rtyR1v3r is clearly an excellent tournament player. In the top 20 of the Pocket Fives rankings, he knows his stuff for sure. So when he raises from under the gun, despite the fact he hasn't got out of line so far, I know his range could be wider than some other players. That said I'm really not convinced it was the right play to reraise with AJo from the cut off. And indeed, if I was going to reraise, my raise from 60k to 168k was too much. It committed too high a proportion of my stack and a little bit of a smaller reraise would have done the same job. I think if I was going to reraise, somewhere in the region of 140-145k would have been appropriate and easier to fold to a shove.

It folds back to D1rtyR1v3r and he shoves it in my face by going all in. Now this is an awful position and one that could have been avoided.

Including his shove there is now 809,164 in the pot and I have to pay my remaining 413,164 to call. It's a sickener. I could be dominated, but if my ace is live I think I have the correct price here. Perhaps I should have played the odds and made the call here. But if I fold, the blinds are only 12.5k/25k and I have over 400k, so I have plenty to play with. I'm really not sure. I need to put some numbers in Poker Stove and take a look.

It's certainly strong play from my opponent, but as a top player I know he is more than capable of making a move. Would this be the spot he would choose to do it. I'm really not sure.

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Hand #404

Perhaps a pretty straightforward hand, but this is the type of spot I've been guilty of making a fold before and I think it was definitely a weakness in my tourney game. I have 9xBB and the small blind open shoves me. He is running at 11/9 over 140 hands, so he's certainly not a LAG. With A5 suited, I ponder briefly, but I make the call. He shows K3 and I hold to double up.

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Hand #436

What should and could have been a standard AQ v 66 race turns into a sick cooler for my opponent when his pocket sixes are counterfeited on the river by quad threes, making my ace high play as the kicker. I like my shove here, I think it was the correct play and he also made the correct call, but it was twisted the way the hand went down. Nice to be on the right end of it of course. :)

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Hand #460

Kevin Saul raises from early position and I reraise from the button with A7 of spades. Now Saul was opening a lot of pots with just over a minimum raise and it was a strategy that was picking him up chips. Every time so far when someone had played back he'd just folded. With A7 I figure to probably have the best hand. I also have the button just in case he decides to flat call. I like my re-raise size here too. As it turns out he folds this time. If he shoves on me I'm really not sure of the right play here, bearing in mind my opponent is one of the most aggressive on the internet.

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Hand #486

Things are getting tough now with Kevin Saul pounding on my blinds. I'm managing to hold my own and not get runover, though this is a tough stretch of play.

I elect to open raise j9o from the cutoff and get min raised by the loosest player at the table, Hasie65 on the button. Options here, we both have chips and the raise is so small that a fold is out of the question. I could shove, but I get the feeling that this guy might call pretty wide, so I decide to call.

The flop is 68T giving me an up and down straight draw. Again options here. Shoving 1.32million into a pot of 736k is a possibility but I don't think the right one. If I donk out and bet something like 2/3 of the pot then its a tough spot if he shoves. Instead I check to him, he bets and I check raise him all in. I think this is a fine play in this spot. He makes quite a call with AQ and I'm a small 46/54 dog. A beautiful queen comes on the turn, pairing him but giving me the straight and now I have just under 3.4 million.

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Hand # 494

Kevin Saul had played flawlessly up to this point, lots of little raises and bets, picking up a lot of pots and establishing a chip lead with 20 players left. I believe I was third at this point. But Saul was to bust in 19th place in a sick and crazy hand that had the observers going mad in the chatbox.

Saul ended up shoving his chips in with queen high and the crazy German Hasie65 again made the call with ace high and was again ahead. Blank on the river, Saul is out and we are down to two tables. I am mighty relieved as I was decidedly uneasy whenever Saul was in a hand. He such a good and unpredictable player.

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Hand #504

About 15 left now. This time I don't have to draw and hit my hand on the flop, achieving maximum value and doubling up to monster 5.5 million.

Despite the fact it is a draw heavy board, I like my flat call on the flop of Hasie's donk bet. He's shown that he's overvalued any pair and I had to take the chance of giving him an extra card so he would be committed and be forced to call an all in. You can't blame him for betting the turn and when I move all in he snap calls. He's been calling all ins with ace high, so top pair is absolutely huge for him!

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Hand #506

Two hands later and now this is a bit of a weird one and one that I think I misplayed quite a bit because of my opponent. Again it is me vs the crazy German. He's now running at 39/27 and with blinds at 50k/100k, he minimum raises from the cut off to 200k which is something he'd been apt to do quite a bit. I wake up with jacks in the BB and decide to pop him. The problem is that I think I make a misclick here. I'm pretty sure I wanted to raise to 800k but I only reraise to 600k. This is a mistake and I believe this raise is too small. Another play which I though would have been fine would have been to flat call, keep the pot small and see a flop.

He calls and the flop comes QT8 with two clubs and I fire a half sized pot bet. I want to take it down right here but it's such a draw heavy board and my opponent is so unpredictable that this is perhaps unlikely. He then min raises me which is a bit of a sickener. Perhaps my lead was a mistake. He's been making really small flop bets, tiny in fact. So if I'd checked to him I could have perhaps seen a turn and maybe even a river cheaply and kept the pot small. However, check calling is rarely a profitable play.

All three options are possibilities here. I definitely have room to come over the top and three bet all in. He'd called two huge all ins with ace high so perhaps it was the correct play. However, perhaps the situation got to me a little and I couldn't pull the trigger. I'd just seen what happened to Kevin Saul and as we were both amongst the chip leaders. I flat called to see the turn and assess the situation.

The eight of clubs is a pretty terrible card for me here. One of the worst in the deck and I ended up folding to a very small bet and feeling sick about it for quite a while. This is one hand I regret a lot, but I've still got chips.

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Approaching the final table

Still with around 15 or 16 left I win a race AK v 33 in a 2.4 million pot, but the hand after run tens into kings in a 3.8 Million pot and I'm back in the pack with the rest of the field.

I carry on chipping away, stealing the occasional blinds and keeping afloat. I pick up AK twice but just take the blinds both times and eventually we are on the final table.

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Hand #559

My final hand was a pretty standard affair. I shoved AQ from utg+1 with around 11bb's. The button, who was the only one with less chips as me, called and was also all in. The big stack in the small blind then makes what I think it a terrible overcall with AJ. Really bad call. In the end AJ > AQ & AK and he busts both of us. I have more chips at the start of the hand, therefore I take 8th place, so that bad call my opponent ended up making me an extra $3,800. Thank you big4aday!

So that's it. I still can't believe I got through almost over 4,500 players to get to the final table. If any poker geeks would like to make comments about any of the hands then please do!

More news from nowhere

2009-02-02T16:25:00.001-08:00

I'm hibernating.

It feels like a bit of an in between time at the moment. Before something starts. Before the cogs begin to whir and and wheels begin to turn. Before an event of significance happens.

Somehow, I find myself in Leeds, in the north of England. Living in a residential area filled with chavs, small aggressive dogs and hyperactive children called Kane and Kyle.

I feel like I'm preparing, getting ready for something important. Or maybe it is just nice to tell myself that, to justify this downtime, this isolation from seemingly normal everyday existence.

I have spent some time thinking about Buddhism and I want to know more.

I have spent some time pondering Polyamory and I would like to investigate further.

And I suspect that I spend more time than most ruminating on the best way to play two overcards, in a shorthanded Limit Texas Hold'em game, when you've been just been check-raised by an aggressive opponent on the flop.

Poker player Andy Black spent five years at a Buddhist retreat before returning to the game and finishing fifth in the 2005 World Series of Poker.

When Joe Strummer hibernated, he went and holed up in Paris where he ran the marathon (whilst smoking).

Some say that Richey Edwards, guitarist with the Manic Street Preachers, has never stopped hibernating.

Me? Well what am I doing? Sometimes I ask myself the same question.

I drink tea. I eat pasta. I watch films at the local arthouse cinema. I try and fail each month to attend the local crime book group and schedule an induction at the gym. I scrutinise and analyse poker hands and strategies with the concentration and alertness of a chess grandmaster. I visit towns and cities in the north of England - once I may even take a camera with me. I listen to Faith No More. I avoid contact with people who I've worked for before, so as not to have to reject the offer of paid work. Most of all I enjoy the time, space and freedom afforded to me by my current circumstances.

I don't expect any rockstar has ever spent a lengthy and fruitful period of time ensconced on a council estate in Leeds. But my friend tells me that the Sisters of Mercy's offices are based nearby, in a rundown industrial area. Well they haven't released and album for 19 years and I expect the rent is cheaper there.

As the snow falls, I lie on my bed, feeling the springs digging into my back and gaze over the panoramic view of West Leeds offered by my bedroom window. The pristine white vista is only broken by the glisten of the barbed wire that surrounds the derelict mill building which was earmarked to be turned into apartments, a plan now mothballed due to the credit crunch. And I wonder if this scene will make it into my biography. Somehow I doubt it and the writer, who will be trying to piece together my life after I turned him/her down for interview, will skip to the part where I became successful at _______.

That would be a mistake because this time is important too. I can feel it.

Almost famous

2009-01-17T07:25:00.001-08:00

I've never wanted to be famous. I think I would prefer to have a brush with fame, a glancing blow of notoriety, be a footnote in history.

Perhaps I could have been the kitman for the 1966 England World Cup Squad. Making sure Geoff Hurst's shirt was clean for the final and perhaps subtlety influencing team selection by sitting behind Alf Ramsey in the dugout.

I don't ever want to win the World Series of Poker, I'd prefer to come second. Take the pay day and slink into the sunset and never play poker again.

Or how about an associate, a confidant of Bowie and Iggy Pop in West Berlin in the late 70s. A friend from down the bierkeller. Maybe I would go round to Bowie's and play scrabble, perhaps add handclaps and percussion to some of the album tracks on Lust For Life or Heroes. Maybe go and get some milk for Iggy's cornflakes after an all night recording session, as he was wrestling to finish the chorus to The Passenger. Bowie could put a subtle, obtuse hint in the sleeve notes to Low about the time he got a seven letter word against me on a triple word score, using a Q and a Z, in one of the breaks whilst he was laying down the vocals for Be My Wife. Twenty year later, I'd read it, chuckle, raise my eyebrows in an amused manner and wonder if taking drugs really does make you better at word based board games.

Yes that would be nice, that would be fine. I think I'd like that.

Albums of the year

2009-01-01T05:22:00.000-08:00

My favourite albums released in 2008 are as follows:

1. Foals - Antidotes
2. Crystal Castles - Crystal Castles
3. Portishead - Third
4. Glasvegas - Glasvegas
5. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Dig!!! Lazarus!!! Dig!!!

6. Mogwai - The Hawk is Howling
7. dEUS - Vantage Point
8. Blood Red Shoes - Box of Secrets
9. REM - Accelerate
10. MGMT - Oracular Spectacular

11. The Faint - Fasciination
12. TV On The Radio - Dear Science
13. Fuck Buttons - Street Horrrsing
14. Elbow - The Seldom Seen Kid
15. Lykke Li - Youth Novels

16. Hercules and the Love Affair - Hercules and the Love Affair
17. Mystery Jets - 21
18. Ladytron - Velocifero
19. Miss Kittin - Batbox
20. The Cure - 4:13 Dream

21. Ratatat - LP3
22. Sigur Ros - Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Enderlast
23. Neon Neon - Stainless Style
24. Spiritulized - Songs in A&E
25. Kings of Leon - Only By the Night

Lest we forget:

2007
1. Calvin Harris - I Created Disco
2. Justice - Cross
3. Grinderman - Grinderman

2006
1. Yeah Yeah Yeah's - Show Your Bones
2. The Long Blondes - Someone To Drive You Home
3. TV On The Radio - Return To Cookie Mountain

2005
1. LCD Soundsystem - LCD Soundsystem
2. The Rakes - Capture/Release
3. Art Brut - Bang Bang Rock & Roll

2004
1. !!! – Louden Up Now
2. Ikara Colt – Modern Apprentice
3. The Faint – Wet From Birth

2003
1. Yeah Yeah Yeah's - Fever to Tell
2. The Rapture - Echoes
3. Carina Round - The Disconnection

Gigs of the year

1. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds/Red Sparrowes @ 4th and B, San Diego
2. Crystal Castles @ Hoxton Square Bar, London
3. !!! @ The Independent, San Francisco
4. Morrissey @ Roundhouse, London
5. TV on The Radio @ Street Scene Festival, San Diego

Edit:
And how could I forget -

0. Justice @ Street Scene Festival, San Diego

The 2008 Bus Route of the Year award will be witheld due to voting irregularities.

Foot fault

2008-10-26T17:14:00.000-07:00

Here’s my problem. I look a bit like I could be a drug dealer. At airports, sometimes this proves to be a little unfortunate.

Now admittedly, my choice of dress often doesn’t really help matters. What I think of as louche, slightly disheveled chic, does not necessarily appear that way to the average customs officer. I do find that I will regularly get singled out for a bit of special attention and a few extra questions, especially when I fly to or from Amsterdam.

This time, for my flight from San Francisco to Las Vegas, I did something that I will never do again. I wore my sandals to travel and in my early morning haste to pack, I put one shoe in my check in luggage and one in my hand baggage. This proved to be somewhat of an error on my part.

When my bag went through the x-ray machine I new there was a problem when three people stopped to point at the machine. Now I usually forget to take some liquids out and once I carried a 32 pack of batteries which on the x-ray looked like a large slab of metal. So I was ready to be asked the favourite question of airport security officers everywhere "Is this your bag, sir?"

This time it was followed up by the double whammy of:

"Is this your shoe, sir?"
and
"And how many feet do you have, sir?"

This guy clearly had me bang to rights here. I had only one shoe, but two feet. It was an open and shut case. As I launched into a complicated explanation to remedy the situation, I heard the unwelcome snap of rubber gloves being put on and the phrase "Please come with me, sir"

Uh-oh...

So it was another first on the trip. The first time I was backroomed at an airport. It was actually quite an interesting experience and I tried to lay on my best bumbling English Hugh Grant style persona to avoid the full body search. With much relief, it didn't come to that and I was able to explain things to them. I think it was probably a slow day for them terrorist-wise, so they wanted something to do. One thing that I didn't understand was why they spent about ten minutes finely dusting my sandals with a small brush whilst I made smalltalk to the customs officer about the baseball playoffs. Perhaps there was still sand on them that resembled explosive materials? Who knows?

Eventually I was released without charge to take my flight.

The scariest thing about the whole experience was that I had to walk barefoot down a long dirty corridor.

If I get verrucas, I'll be filing a lawsuit for sure.

Sleeveless in Seattle

2008-10-17T16:48:00.000-07:00

I was very sad to leave Seattle on Wednesday. I spent a week and a half there and I think I fell in love with the city a little bit. I can’t really put my finger on what it was about it that I liked so much. It wasn’t anything obvious – It is a city of more subtle charms.

It has a kind of crispness and cleanness that the places I’ve been to in California don’t really have. I’ve been told that this is even more so in the spring. The landscape in the Pacific Northwest is amazing. Huge trees everywhere and there is this huge dormant volcano called Mount Ranier looking down on the area. It’s really nice up there.

Whilst I was in Seattle, I developed a bit of a daily circuit. Early lunch at Mae Phim, a really good Thai place that does great lunches for about $6-$7. Then, after a browse around Pike Place Market, maybe buying a little bit of food for the rabbits, on to the Crumpet Shop, where you can drink as much tea as you like for $1.55. Like a parched man who had found an oasis in the desert, I think one day I had ten cups.

Then later, after perhaps wandering the streets a little, or going to an art gallery, on to a great cosy coffee shop like Bauhaus Books and Coffee in Capitol Hill. Or perhaps the internet café Uncle Elizabeth’s, where they do great tuna melt sandwiches. And the coffee, wow it was good!

It’s a very cultural city, there’s always a lot going on and it’s very compact too, so it is easy to get to lots of different places. Public transport is pretty good as well. I never got to Portland or Vancouver, but I visited Tacoma and Olympia, both of which have their charms in different ways and both of which I’ve mentioned already.

The only thing I’m not missing about Seattle is the weather. When I started this trip I wasn’t even sure if I was going to go that far north, so I packed clothes for California. It meant that when I got up there, I was extremely under-dressed for the, at times, somewhat inclement conditions. My bootleg LA Dodgers hoodie certainly got a lot of wear. It was a shame that the Dodgers themselves couldn’t quite make the World Series, losing 4-1 to Philadelphia in the semis.

So now here I am back in San Francisco for the third time. This time I am staying in a hostel in Chinatown, which is one of my favourite districts. It is right next to North Beach (the Italian area), another of my favourites. It’s quite a small hostel and each of the beds is named after a famous person from San Francisco’s history. I was introduced to my bed with the following line “You are in Lilly Coit, as were half the fire fighters of San Francisco in the late 19th Century!”

I was intrigued by a flyer on the wall of the hostel.

CHEAPEST SKY DIVING IN CALIFORNIA

Now I’m a man who likes to watch his pennies, but when it comes to certain things, I think it is better not to try to economise. Sky Diving is definitely top of my list, along with plastic surgery and custard. Trust me folks, cheap own brand custard isn’t worth even bothering with.

I think if I want to try sky diving, I’d probably spend an extra few dollars, rather than going with the Poundstretcher option. I wouldn’t really want to be freefalling and find out my parachute was made of newspaper or something like that…

Today I went to City Lights bookstore, which was very cool - Hundreds of books about all the beat writers and the whole movement. I spent about an hour reading a fantastic self-produced booklet about the street art scene in Buenos Aires – It made me want to go to Argentina!

I feel like my trip is pretty much over. Tomorrow I fly to Vegas for the last leg. In my mind though, it doesn’t really count, because Vegas is not entirely real and full of sick degenerate gamblers. Me included.

So now I’m sitting and reflecting in a café in North Beach, San Francisco. I’m listening to Devotchka, drinking iced coffee and watching the cable cars go past outside the window.

Even though my trip is ending soon, I feel really happy. I feel very alive and open to possibility, to adventure and to life.

It’s a nice feeling.

Mexico shitty

2008-10-12T13:02:00.000-07:00

I almost forgot to tell you. Don't go to Tijuana. It is a complete hellhole. Even Coventry looks picturesque by comparison :-).

I was there a few weeks ago - I only lasted about six hours. The only redeeming features I can think of was that beer was only $1 a bottle and I almost had my photograph taken with a zebra.

Never have I felt more like a tourist in my entire life. At every turn, people tried to sell goods and services to me. Sunglasses, viagra, cigars, beer, burritos, hats, naked girls... the list goes on. I was almost losing the will to live when I was approached by a man with a Polaroid camera with a zebra on a lead. It is the first time this has ever happened to me.

Now let me say, I was tempted, but one look at the slightly mangy zebra was enough to convince me that this kind of practice shouldn't be encouraged.

It would have made a good Facebook profile pic though...

In a bar in Tijuana I met this guy. Let's call him Jose. He told me his story.

His family are all American citizens but he was born across the border in Mexico, where he lived for a year before moving to the US. Jose lived in the US for thirty years. After 9/11, he signed up to the military, where he served for a year. He was preparing to go to Iraq, when he got a different kind of call up... from the immigration office. He was being deported. He'd spent two years in Tijuana rebuilding his life. He now worked in a Mexican bank and seemed to be doing OK, though the standard of living was obviously much lower.

I was liking this guy and was enjoying having a beer with him, when disaster struck. Yes, it turned out he was a crazy conspiracy theorist.

"Phill, I think god made us meet today because he wanted me to give you a message."

*eyebrow arched quizzically* "Yes?"

"The message is that our governments have been lying to us for all these years. We need to overthrow them and take control. We need to take power back for ourselves."

"Do you want another Corona?"

"Yeah, sure."

When he offered to take me to a local strip joint, as he could get free entry, I realised that it probably wasn't going to be the place to plan world domination. Taking this as my cue to leave, perhaps shamefully, I ran off whilst he was in the toilet. Sorry Jose! I did pick up the tab though...

The squalor of Tijuana is in start contrast to San Diego, just over the border. The word I would probably most use to describe San Diego is nice. I can see why it is one of the fastest growing cities in the US. The climate is good, great beaches, the city feels friendly and safe. But for me, maybe it was a little too friendly and safe?

Don't get me wrong, I liked it there and had a great time. I met some great people, there are some interesting districts and the beaches at Del Mar and Oceanside are beautiful, especially at night. But it felt, well at least the downtown area did, a little too ordered and sanitised. Plus it didn't seem to have the edge of San Francisco or Los Angeles.

I'd really like to go to Mexico City or Guadalajara to see the real Mexico. But for now, I can't stress this enough... Don't go to Tijuana!

The war on poo

2008-10-08T23:26:00.001-07:00

A friend from San Francisco, who lived in Seattle for ten years, said to me that the city was all about "coffee, music, books and alcohol." After spending a few days here, I would have to agree with her. I've mainly spent my time in coffeeshops, pubs and watching bands. No wonder everyone drinks so much coffee here, the weather is so bad that it's dryer and warmer to stay indoors. The coffee is pretty great too though.

I'm staying in this sweet apartment smack bang in the middle of downtown Seattle. The deal is that I'm rabbit sitting. It's a long story... involving Morrissey...

There are two house rabbits I'm looking after. One is small bouncy and seems to like me. She follows me around the apartment. She is also the one that shits everywhere, so maybe its her way of apologising. The other one is very fat and ambles around the place viewing me suspiciously, but I don't really mind. At least she doesn't shit everywhere.

The first morning, I spent about twenty minutes diligently cleaning the place up. I did all the food, changed the water, cleaned out the litter tray and vacuumed the floor. Right on cue, just as I'd finished tidying up, one of the rabbits came bouncing up to near where I was. Without hesitation, she turned, looked me in the eye, cocked her leg and pissed all over the carpet. It was a statement of intent. The opening salvo in the toiletry war that we've been waging all week. It's a war I cannot win. Now I know how Bush and Blair feel. I've considered having a piss in their sleeping area as a retaliatory measure, to see how they like it. But I don't want things to escalate. Instead I'm pursuing peaceful methods.

I've been informed that these particular rabbits really like pears, so I bought a few from Pike Place Market earlier and we'll eat them together later. I'm sure it will be a beautiful moment.

Monday night I went to see These Arms Are Snakes do a midnight gig to launch their new album at a cool store called Easy Street Records. It was a pretty good show, considering that these in-store concerts are usually awkward affairs. The new album doesn't seem as instant as some of their older stuff, but I still think they are an intriguing band. However, I feel I must comment on the facial hair of the singer, some of the most ill-judged I've seen since Ian McShane appeared in the TV series Deadwood. Have a shave man! And stop spitting everywhere. Where do you think you are? 1976?

Tuesday night saw me go and see Deerhoof, who I enjoyed, but they are just a little too arty for my liking. I'd definitely recommend you go see them, but at times, I just wanted then to throw off their art-rock hipster shackles and rock out a little, without the unorthodox time signatures and stop start nature of some of their songs. They were supported by the excellently named two-piece Experimental Dental School, who I enjoyed greatly and I recommend you check out on MySpace forthwith.

I'm here for a while longer. The weather is a little hard to adjust to after six weeks of sunshine, but I'm doing my best, despite a cold. I've been living off huge plates of dirt cheap Vietnamese food, as well as reliving my youth by eating pop tarts.

Seattle feels very European, which is also difficult to adjust to. I've even heard rumours I might be able to get a good cup of tea in this town. This is so far unsubstantiated.

Tacoma, Olympica and a Spanaway in the works

2008-10-06T16:36:00.000-07:00

FADE IN

It's dark and pissing it down with rain. I'm on my hands and knees crawling around on the ground in the car park of a fast food restaurant in Spanaway, Washington, illuminated by the headlights of a nearby car. I'm looking for something. I can't find it.

JUMP CUT

Two days later. I'm in the passenger seat of a 1959 Volvo. We are driving up the freeway from Tacoma to Seattle. The rhythm of the windscreen wipers punctures the comfortable silence inside the vehicle. One other detail is obvious to the viewer as the camera pans around the car, focusing on the dated dashboard and gearstick - the driver is wearing pajamas.

FADE OUT - OPENING CREDITS - SONG: TOUCH ME I'M SICK BY MUDHONEY

A lot happened this weekend in between these two moments. I'll tell you about some of it.

I flew from San Francisco to Seattle/Tacoma airport on Friday. When the plane touched down, I saw something that I hadn't seen for six and a half weeks. Rain. And lots of it. The flight on Virgin America was great. It cost just $60 and the in flight entertainment system had an extensive New Order, Nine Inch Nails and REM back catalogue.

Over the weekend I was back in the world of couch surfing. I was staying with Euphoria in Tacoma. Her daughter was away for the weekend so I slept in her room. She had perhaps the most comfortable bed I've ever slept in. Or perhaps it just seemed that way after spending a couple of weeks staying in hostel bunk beds.

Euphoria has lots of great stories and she was a great host. As well as designing top secret things for the government, she is an artist and has many of her paintings in various states of completion hanging around in her lounge. A stray cat and two very cute kittens had latched on to her and returned throughout the weekend for some food and affection. Sadly her own cat was not seen all weekend. I hope he's ok and he's just gone a little adventure, much like myself.

Friday night in Tacoma and there was only one place to go - Bob's Java Jive. The Java Jive was built in the 1920s and it built like a giant teapot. In the 50's it was a speakeasy and in the 80's it provided a hang out for a young Kurt Cobain in his pre-Nirvana days. Now it plays host to a cast of balding former grunge rockers and passing truckers.

Sadly, I was informed by Euphoria that the karaoke equipment had been stolen a few months before, so Tacoma was unable to hear my legendary version of The Clash's Should I Stay Or Should I Go? However, two stoner rock bands were on hand to provide the music for the evening. Work by local artist Teddy Haggerty is around the bar - He also took the photo of us outside. In the pic is Euphoria, her cool friend Joe and his Greek girlfriend Lily, and a guy called Andy who drove me to Seattle.

I loved in there and I even managed to persuade the barman to serve me, though I didn't have any ID.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention... I lost my passport.

Spanaway ballet

I'd never even heard of Spanaway (a suburb of Tacoma) before this weekend, but I was to spend several hours combing its streets for my passport, which may or may not have dropped out of my pocket and out of the door of the car. I came more familiar with the layout and gradients of the car park of a Jack in the Box fast foot restaurant than I ever thought was possible. Legend has it that your brain goes funny if you drink too much of the Spanaway water. I didn't really want to stick around to find out.

After travelling hundreds of miles, I couldn't understand how I could lose my passport inside a car, but that seemed to be what had happened.

My thoughts turned to embassies, consulates and jail. I remembered the man I'd met in Mexico (who I've yet to write about), who was deported, despite being in the army for three years. As someone who regularly gets mistaken for a drug dealer as I do (it's true), it was a sobering thought.

But more pressingly, when 50 year olds are routinely ID'd at bars, how was I going to get a beer?

You may have guessed by the somewhat blazé nature of this post, I managed to find my passport the next day, wedged down a tiny crack in the car. Needless to say I was mighty relieved.

Well I went to School in Olympia...

Olympia is about half an hour from Tacoma by car and all Riot Grrl fans will be pleased to know that to get there you have to go past Sleater-Kinney Boulevard. On Saturday night, the main street hosted lots of little bars with bands playing and stuff going on. Olympia also has it's own beer, which tastes a little like urine, but is about half the price of other ales on offer. And I ate a hot dog with cream cheese, which was surprisingly good.

First stop was Jakes, a gay bar where a person of indiscriminate gender performed a complicated fan dance on the floor and astrology was hotly debated in the smoking area.

And then a couple of bars, my favourite of which being Le Voyeur, a dive bar with a tiny gig room at the back. The first band who played were great. Sadly I have no idea what they were called. A three-piece who would have seemed more at home in South London than Olympia, their raw energy, rasped vocals and ramshackle aggression reminded me of early Libertines. I need to find out their name. The second band featured a man in a red wig, but it was the third act where things got interesting.

Firstly, they were awful. Out of tune and out of time, but with a swagger and an attitude that failed to tally with their musical ineptitude. The singer, who looked about 14, repeatedly wandered into the crowd barging into people and pushing them. Then after about four songs, both the bass and vocals cut out in the space of thirty seconds.

After trying to fix things for a few minutes, the bassist gave up and smashed his instrument to pieces on the stage. He then canvassed the room to see if he could borrow another. Unsurprisingly, as the shards of his bass guitar lay scattered across the stage, he drew a blank.

Then suddenly, A FIGHT! The singer began throwing punches and about eight people piled on for a bundle, directly in front of the drummer who was still sat behind his kit. As fights go, it was one of those which had few punches and lots of rolling around, a bit like in an episode of Bergerac.

A Napoleon Dynamite moment

It was time to leave and there were rumours of two parties in town. A homecoming party and a fancy dress party with a nature theme.

I still don't understand what a homecoming is, or what a homecoming party is all about, but I'm very glad I went, as it was one of the funniest things I'd ever seen.

On the way there we tried to concoct all kinds of stories to get past the door. One unlikely tale involved me posing as a record company scout who was interesting in signing the band. As it was we just walked straight though the door and in. Undetected, but at least ten years older than everyone else in the building.

As it was, the band was just about finishing and a sedate atmosphere prevailed. But then, as the group packed away, disco music filled the room and I witnessed some of the most uncoordinated, spasmodic, unorthodox and energetic dancing I've ever seen in my life.

For some reason this homecoming was filled with geeks. They were wound up and ready to go. And when geeks dance, boy do they DANCE!

The aroma in the air was a heady mix of sweat and acne cream, as skinny boys in glasses, ill advised early attempts at facial hair and tight polyester outfits, gyrated suggestively across the dance floor. The aim was to entice shy looking girls, also of course mainly with glasses, to join them in some Napoleon Dynamite style dancing. The dancefloor became a collage of flailing limbs and light, as the discoballs bounced off the multitude of eyewear that was on the move. It was truly something beautiful.

After stocking up on Olympia beer, we hopped over town to the party. It was held in some kind of student house and it was clear it was in full swing. In the kitchen, I again felt at least ten years older than everyone there. Guys with painted faces and foliage attached to their body sipped poor quality lager and smoked weed, or maybe even smoked their own outfits. My last memory of the evening involves a room full of people dressed as trees dancing to LCD Soundsystem.

It was quite a weekend.

Beyond the Palin

2008-10-03T00:59:00.000-07:00

I spent the first part of this evening with about 25 other people packed in the kitchen of the hostel where I'm staying in San Francisco. The occasion was the Vice Presidential debate and the chance to see Sarah Palin in action! There were several nationalities present in the kitchen, all of them seemingly in favour of the Democrats.

To spice up proceedings we played a spot of Sarah Palin bingo. Each of us was given a sheet with keywords or phrases that she might use during the debate. Prizes were on offer of the first to get a line. I was off to a flying start as Palin mentioned being a 'soccer mum' within ten seconds of her first answer, but it wasn't to be and I didn't win.

Now first let me say that if you ever wanted to get a definition of the phrase 'out of your depth', you just need to look at Sarah Palin. But fair play to her, she stuck in there in the debate. To quote Big Ron Atkinson, "she did the ugly things well" and stayed with what she knew. In the main, she actually came over as far more likable than Joe Biden, who despite his comprehensive knowledge and experience, still comes across like a bit of a grumpy old bastard.

After all that excitement, it was time to head out for my last night in San Francisco (redux). I headed, of course, to the Mission District, my favourite part of town, where I hit a few of my favourite bars.

Previously I had been staying at a hostel in the Mission District (the one that serves cake for breakfast), but I'd been forced to leave after a spate of customer service blunders that made Fawlty Towers look like the Hilton. I'd considered strangling the staff with my bug infested bed sheets, but thought it best to make a swift exit instead.

As I headed out, I felt the first rain for the 6+ weeks of my trip. It's clearly a sign of things to come as I fly to Seattle tomorrow.

So before I sign off, let me raise a glass to a few of my favourite bars in the Mission.

Casanova Lounge - Where they play ska and northern soul and happy hour runs 6-8.

The Lexington - The Lesbian bar where I played pool with an 80 year old man.

The Lone Palm - Where post punk and new wave music perfectly soundtracks the silent films they show behind the bar.

The Belgian chip place where the dishes are named after artists and I got into an in depth discussion about clay pigeon shooting.

And finally Amnesia (Opposite Dave Eggers' pirate store - for all your glass eye and eyepatch needs) - Where after around seven vodka & cranberries I saw a bluegrass band play a killer cover of Here I Go Again by Whitesnake. To say it was one of the most seminal moments of my life is not an exaggeration.

Cheers...