Born 30 something years ago into a card-playing clan in the North of England: the low-roller's poker odyssey has taken him from the school common-room via down-trodden Midlands' casinos, smoky Cotswolds pubs, celebrity Soho drinking spots and of course the ubiquitous world of cyberspace to the home of poker itself, Las Vegas. Join his search for juicy take-downs, great pot odds and the occasional back-door straight as he goes for glory.
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Monday, July 31, 2006
TWO HOURS AND COUNTING, MR. BOND
I have slept well - last night Mr. Bull refrained from snoring like a steam-train with attitude, and Sarah, his lady was prevented from communicating by a simple use of the off button on the mobile phone. So I awoke but with one dream that I remember, my first American dream in fact, which meant nothing until I vocalised it. I was in a building and was doing some sort of service, being asked to choose a room to clean (my cleaner delightful Anita is doing so as I speak). I chose the atrium, and found myself cleaning the floor. Mr. Bull pointed out that maybe this meant I'd be wiping the floor. Living the American dream, I guess.
6:11 PM | Permalink