"You're watching World News Tonight, I'm some guy in London", "I'm some dame in Washington" and I'm Tim Horner in Newquay.

Nuts to writing anything inanely intelligent tonight. It's just gone 3.30am, I've got two Full Tilt poker windows open, I'm checking my emails, watching News 24 and writing this. Details can be obtained at a later date.

Hmm... Should've read my last post before I started writing this one. I have no clue as to what kind of state I left this Tramspotting convention. Ah flip, it must be late. BBC 2 has just gone to Ceefax. Seriously, I don't pay my License Fee to see random pages from the old Ceefax. I pay it so three middle aged men can arse about in foreign countries in expensive cars. I pay it to see highlights of national sporting figures failing spectacularly. I pay it so that when I occasionally listen to Radio One, I can hear Jo Whiley bang on and on for weeks about some shitty bands playing songs (probably not even their own) at some shitty free festival on the other side of this strange island nation.

I believe the last words written on this bad boy had something to do with me putting in a day's work at a cheese factory and DJing (?). This conclusion has been reached as I only seem to write on Wednesdays. Which as a writer is a bad habit I seem to have slipped into. I just have too many non writing related things to be doing now that I've left university. Like work in Somerfield (the latest of my remedial jobs, secured by the attainment of a degree in the media sector), busking to drunk people outside the kebab house in town, playing two tables of poker (well now one, stupid overcards not hitting) and quite enjoying the music that accompanies BBC 2's presentation of old school Ceefax (affectionately known as the poor man's Internet). I take back my previous rant. Despite the ire caused by Jo Whiley, the Beeb is pretty sweet. Fuck, this is starting to read like a normal blog. I think I've been paying too much attention to playing the cards. Actuall

It is at this point that the writer ingeniously re-re-raises a bullying big stack pre flop. The bully turns out to have Aces, which hold up against the valiant scribe's Jacks.

What I was about to say was: Actually, I think I better focus on the poker, as I've reached the final table - more words will follow. The irony that the break was going to occur, but occurred due to less fortunate reasons is appreciated (I grew up in the nineties, tale end of Generation X). Not quite as much as I'd like though. For clarity that's the enjoyment of the ironic situation I'm talking about, not the year in which I was born. Maybe I didn't get a chance to go and see Nirvana in their brief and awesome reign, but I get to be old enough to appreciate them and young enough to not have the burdens of... well, being old, owning a house, having a mortgage and kids.

Alas, I become aware of the rambling nature this prose has taken. The mission to avoid regular blogging standards (either boring, uncontrollably stupid or both) is achieved. And I think I'm starting to feel a bit sleepy.

Seeing as it's Wednesday tomorrow I imagine I'll be on here again. Hopefully not writing to drown out the sounds of friends having sex on the floor above, and hopefully with some more purpose. I might mention something that I've done recently or if you're lucky you might get some really stoned thoughts. (I got a 2:1 by getting baked. I also think it's worth mentioning that this has all been written in a sober stupor.) Three weeks on the lash. It had to end at some point. This one will do.