Two weeks, no writey? Not on here I'm afraid. Been way too busy last minuting my dissertation (over the past week).

Shan't be long on here neither. Got shit to do. But rest assured I'll be getting on with self doubt and cracking tunes circling my mind.

I wish I had time to write more.

Love

Three times in one night? I'm going to be sore tomorrow.

Ah fuck it. If there's a better place than their own blog for someone to brag about their skills at the poker table I haven't heard of it. Dejected and tired, and somewhat fed up of reading the same shit over and over and over again, I decided to fire up a single table sit n go. One last roll of the dice for the night. That and after the annoyance of going out ninth (top six paid) in the last game and the horrendous drunk session I had last Thursday, my bankroll seriously needed a kick in the right direction. And it got just that. Woo hoo! Back up to the major league level that is $100, I can feel a degree of pride for having a three figure bankroll again.

Notes to self for future reference: Don't play like a twat. Play the game to win it, not to try and win as many hands as possible. Don't play drunk. Don't play tired. Don't play games unless you've got time to commit to the end. Don't lose concentration at the final stages. And don't cry like a baby when you make a stupid move and luck doesn't go your way (re: last post to some extent).

Right, time to sleep. Too much to do tomorrow to be on here all night. Ah fuck, half three? I can be up and at my 'desk' for twelve. Easy.

Eye off the ball. I took my eye off the fucking ball for two seconds and just threw away an hour's work. The poker hand mentioned in the last post came from a 45 player tournament. I had just made it to the final table, mainly by playing tight and aggressive and paying more attention to my text book (and this blog of course). But final table time, time to switch on. I turned open my book and got all of thre sentences in to a new chapter. I look up. Pocket eights. Middle position I raise (blinds: 200/400) to 1800. One caller. The flop comes J-2-6 rainbow. I think about it for a minute. He wouldn't have just called with Aces/Kings/Queens. Jacks highly unlikely, that would warrent a reraise to avoid a danger flop. A-K, A-Q, A-J or a pair lower than 10s. I shove, he calls and has me covered by about 1,000 with KING FUCKING JACK. What the fuck is he calling big pre flop raises with that shit? I don't hit either of my two outs and I'm out. Incensed, enraged, but I've learned a lesson. And they're worth cash. If not a currency.

Over a week without a post? Yes, my life has got increasingly boring in these past few days. (Phew, Jacks held up against A-K all in pre flop.) Anyway, I write this post lying in bed with the window wide open to allow the smoke to drift into the cool night air. I don't want my room smelling of smoke now do I?

I'm reading the joyous subject of gender politics for my dissertation and acting out the role of the 'masculine' in one form or another (there are many forms of masculinity that negotiate with each other and blah, blah, blah) by playing poker (a very manly past time) and smoking Marlboro reds (real Cowboy killers). Plus I'm eating what is possibly my first ever cuisine creation (not that manly a thing depending on your social circles), the 'Triple Cream'. It's basically a Jacob's cream cracker with double cream smeared on top (one and two is three, get it?). Hardly a snack that the girls will be running for. Running from more like. And if anyone's asking, no I'm not stoned, there's just nothing in my kitchen. Barre some cream and some crackers.

Skipping to the point as to why I decided to get my sorry ass to Blogger: I've just come straight (via the intro blurb) from my Hotmail where I've just emailed one of my tutors. What caught my attention was the user specific advertisements that appeared on the page. Now having written to my tutor about my dissertation (on poker in a roundabout way), I wasn't surprised to see an ad for William Hill's casino website. The matter of the source of how they know I'm a sick sad gambler is another thing. Did they read my email? Did they check my cookies? Do they know that I've got Full Tilt Poker running? Either way they've got me hook, line and sinker as a target demographic. Nice one internet for invading my personal information and selling it to the highest bidder. Too bad that information on me you got (male, twenties, gambler...) also applies to the other ad you threw upon me. Too bad I've already got a fucking TV License!

Bit more light hearted today. I can't spend my time being angry, or wasting other's time with it. Oh, shit, I just realised I was going to write a rant. It's a funny one at least!

For the last week or so, the good people at Ipsos MORI, the research company, have been hounding me on the phone. At least once a day I receive a call, tell them I'm busy and hang up. Don't they get the message? Then this morning I got a survey in the post from them. Fine, I give in. I'll fill out the fucking form. I'm not letting some robot process five minutes of my good time into data. You can enjoy it too. Here's what I put for the Positive and Negative aspects I've found from my course.

Positive: The course has provided me with opportunities and contacts, but I'd probably have made the opportunities and contacts regardless [of the course]. In hindsight, the course has made me sickenally aware of the lack of employability in my field, which is a good thing to know; having shelled out £15,000 for it. I have met some very good people along the way.

Negative: I don't really see what I'm paying for. You turn education into a business and that's what you get. I feel like a customer that has been duped by a dodgy car salesman. The course I took could have been done by the Open University as is the amount of contact time I have had with my tutors. This is how stimulating the course is, I can't be bothered to fill the box to the brim with anger.


(Big empty space) Empty space where I'd rant if I could be fucked.

I wish they made the box bigger as I could've gone on for pages. Seriously, if I hadn't had made the friends I have here I wouldn't have bothered from the start. Everyone I meet who says they're interested in journalism has their image of it shattered. That's what I've learned. It's a fucking sham. And that goes for college education as well.

You know what? I can't be fucked to write a response to the deleted comment. The internet has details of too many people's personal lives. I'd rather have privacy to some extent of existence.

How do you do it? How do you stop acting like a twat?

I can concede that at this moment, my actions are somewhat influenced by a number of drinks consumed so far this evening. Don't get me wrong, I'm not using that as an excuse. But it would be foolish to ignore that factor.

My head is all over the place at the minute. As usual that comes from a combination of college worries and ex issues. The fact that I can't seem to get the latest episode of Lost doesn't help.

I was this (imagine the gap between two fingers of a Kit Kat) close to calling it a night, when I heard my house mates arrive downstairs. Not wanting to be a sad sack, I went down to see what all the fuss was about. A man contest ensued, with shots of vile super strength liquor flowing. Despite the presence of an army boy, I think I did alright for the effeminate skinny geeky lads. I'm still alive and wasting money on online poker. They ain't.

So it's one more hand and then bed. Or as close as, cos I'm in a tournament. I just don....

I just ran into Aces on a steal. Cock it. Fuck the cards and fuck the world that they inhabit. I'm going sleep where no one can beat me. Except a psycho with my house keys.

I've adjusted to getting up at around two. That's not to say that I've been getting up early on a regular basis, just when I have to. But it's something that I need to cut out. Looking at my last post I can deduce that I must have got to sleep at around four or five a.m. but that's still a decent seven/eight hours kip. I need to stick to that as a maximum, I've been sleeping way too much recently. Should my life ever pass before my eyes I'm sure the majority I see will be lucid dreams. I need to start living more. My other problem is that it takes me a good hour to wake up, get out of bed and shower. My life needs more structure I think.

The first way to tackle this I realised last night, was that I need to keep a notepad and pen on me at all times. Really, the amount of information that passes through my brain and leaves no traces or stains behind is alarming. It's only taken three years of a journalism course to realise this, but the first thing I did today was go out and buy a pocket sized pad. I had my heart set on a nice fancy moleskin one, but having little time to shop about I settled for a cheap one from Smiths.

My shopping excursion then took me to Enjoy Boogie Woogie, where to my disappointment they didn't what I wanted. I've been after a waist coat for a while (in a Russell Brand, Jack Sparrow kind of look). The only ones they had were nasty wedding suit types. Not my cup of tea. The charity shops were my next port of call, where I found a very fetching brown velvet suit jacket. There's a few in Boogie that have caught my eye, but they're like £15/£20. Luckily the one I spotted in Cancer Research was a fiver. It's been a while since I treated myself to a jacket. Five pounds? I can spend that in two minutes at the bar.

Anyway, (going off point there) despite not having notepad last night I managed to write (quite eloquently may I add) on the back of my hand to listen again to Giles Peterson. So now I'm trying to do some reading and listening to some sweet tunes from last night. Ah wait, I'm writing this and not reading ought. Christ my head is all over the place. Cam had some fucking strong green.

And I completely forgot why I started this post. I just found a word I didn't recognise in an essay, 'panoply'. I think I'm gonna start a word of the day kind of thing, it can only help my writing right?

pan·o·ply /ˈpænəpli
–noun, plural -plies.
1. a wide-ranging and impressive array or display: the dazzling panoply of the maharaja's procession; the panoply of European history.
2. a complete suit of armor.
3. a protective covering.
4. full ceremonial attire or paraphernalia; special dress and equipment.

Definition nicked from Dictionary.com

I must have spent more time writing that post than I realised. My curry has cooled down because I'm writing this tosh.

I think somewhere between the drinking and smoking, almost passing out and stumbling home; I formulated an evil plan to work all my college projects around DJing and an underground magazine. For sure, I'll have to write some bollocks for another specified market but work is work. Something I'm not too good at. Food time.

Another idea that has been hatched so far is that because I've got such an addictive personality: drinker/smoker/gambler/degenerate hedonist. I can get out of one pattern and into another (like when I started smoking to stop playing fruit machines at sixteen): get high from pulling coffee and cigarette fueled all nighters. I only seem to keep to irregular sleep patterns. Really, you spend one night up until six fooling around with someone and being up writing at gone five doesn't seem so bad.

But as I know, I need to man up, grow a pair and get on with my fucking dissertation. But hopefully in a day or so it'll be the focus off a caffeine induced bender. And I do have to remember that I'm an adrenaline junkie at heart.

For once, I'm glad that for whatever reason it is, I can't format this page to have a title. Too varied and rambling will this post be, I don't think I could tie it down to a few witty words. Please note that because I'm writing this in I.E. there might be spelling mistakes cos I haven't tried to turn it on, unlike the just as rubbish Firefox what does have a spellcheck.

That got a bit geeky, And on another geeky note (why have I started with the geeky? If this should ever be editted, put this not at the start) but, yeah, I got rid of Norton for Avast and all of a sudden Soulseek works again. Good times. I heard a track by this band at a party a few weeks ago and it sounded sweet and fresh, but yet familiar. A week later I find it, purely by coincidence on a blog. So I find the album and then about a day later realise I already had one of their tracks on a mix CD. Well done Cribs, I love it.

So there's the music ad geek news done. I've had another busy one. Despite the fact I've eaten fuck all all day, and am supremely tired after spending the night getting hammered at a gig/club/random 17 year old kid (and his mates) place/gone home with a random girl/gone to the library/drank tea/watched the disappointing England game/talked shit in the pub/Djed at a dead bar that miraculously turned into a lock-in/sat smoking pipes and playing the guitar with Cam listening to Giles Peterson. Yeah, it's been a good one.

I must eat now. Post will continue...

Too much poker for one night. It's not often I'll allow myself to say that. In fact, if I didn't have to go downstairs to get the charger for my laptop I'd probably carry on playing. That's becuase despite the appauling run of bad beats (let me rant about them in due time) I've come out on top tonight.

Now I'm not one to moan, ah fuck it, of course I am. I'm a) a man, b) British and c) a good enough poker player to make himself look like a tit by saying things like "I can't believe he hit his up and down straight/flush/over pair" (although I don't think that many bad players could comprehend that possibility). I've just been feeling the wrath of the poker lords recently with lower kickers hitting, being out drawn by river chasers and my least favourite: having the board higher two pair to give me a shit kicker. And in the last game I just played, I lost count of the number of times three handed I'd get a walk with either A-A, K-K, A-K, Q-Q in the big blind, but find the guy under the gun raise me whenever I held junk. It was like playing on Absolute Poker or something. Really, the two guys I was up against just wouldn't go out. The blinds were at 250/500 and they held on to their stacks of 1/1500 for what seemed like an eternity.

But heaven forbid, I finished the job. It's made me feel good to know that despite the shit that gets thrown at me I can still get the job done. Hell, if my battery doesn't run out before I finish writing this I can check my progress on SharkScope. And I think that's a pretty good metaphor for life considering it's gone 4.30 in the morning. Fuck, I might have to re-read this whatever time I get up tomorrow afternoon to realise it's not all that bad. And sometimes in life I can do what I set out to do. Fuck, that red wine has got me all Disney!

The lack of a recentish post tells me that I need to get my arse in gear. Even if I'm just writing to avoid writing, I know that I'm in the right frame of mind and place, even if I am slacking off. The last week has been a mess and I've got nothing done. Zero. That doesn't quite mean lying in bed and sleeping for eighteen hours a day. It means that for some stupid fucking reason I haven't been doing the work I so desperately need to. I could slap myself in the face for being such a fucktard.

Time to finish the cig and get some books out. I need to get shit done.

I'm writing at eight o'clock in the morning. Tonight is the bubble party. I haven't gone to bed tonight also. I've not written shit in days, but the plan is there. Plus I'm not too concerned about it. There's been an intense online poker session; during which I cane out about $3 up and watched Stardust and Good Night, And Good Luck. That's a good five hour session at least.

I've also done some research which involved message/chatting up some rather attractive girls from around Falmouth. Before the epic poker session I played (or DJed at least for the last half hour. And that was after the Woodlane poker final, that I made a deal in the final three (which took a good four-plus hours). I'm a bit tired now.

Yeah, no more witty lines for today/night.

I knew as I was writing last night about finding direction and being slightly productive that it would be a short term thing. It's not that I've done nothing today. I've come up with some things, just not very big things, clever things or many things and it has all been done at quite a slow pace.

There was a reason I set my alarm for 12.30 last night. I wasn't sure what it was, but I did it anyway. At 12.30 I rolled back to sleep. Twenty minutes later there was a knock on my bedroom door. 'Hello, we're here to do a viewing. Are you decent?' That was it. Having barely any clean clothes and no underwear to my disposal, I threw on a hoodie and a pair of ill fitting jeans and escaped to the living room. After fixing breakfast and showing some latecomers around the house (still dressed quite badly), I received a text as I was putting a laundry load on. 'Do you fancy a jam?' It asked. 'Only if I can bring my dis and my guitar' I replied. 'Yes and yes', was the response. Cool, I thought. It's only 2pm and I can get to work, as opposed to the usual start twelve hours later in the day.

We played guitar for about an hour or so and thoughts of writing subsided. So when the idea of going for a pub dinner came up I willingly obliged. Then the opportunity to go spinning staffs and playing a bit more arose. I took that option too. Tired from the most exercise I've had in about a month, I went round to another friend's house for a cup of tea and a cigarette or three. I got home after 11 and tried to get to work. Then it was twelve. One soon followed and I found myself watching the Late Night Poker final (which to my shock was only the first bloody half, I'll have to tune in next week!). So now it has gone three and I've done a tiny bit of reading. I need to be up at ten to show my tutor what I've done. I can explain the re-shuffle of my plans for the dissertation, but I don't think he'll care about that. He wants to see work I think. So do I.

Once again I find myself at my mate's at gone 2 o'clock in the morning. Not an uncommon occurence on a Monday night (or any other night considering my recent drinking patterns). This time however, I am working again. Or at least not right now, I need to escape from it for a few more minutes. Just tap out some words that flow easily from my head, instead of braining over every sentence, then double guessing its delivery and relevance. (Although I've just re written the last bit of that sentence to make it sound better.) I feel once again some direction in where it is going, but I thought that the other night and earlier this evening found myself at a dead end (hence the trip here).

The bloody storm is playing havoc with the internet, phonelines must be down or something. Some sites I just can't seem to connect to. The infallibility and omnipotence of the tinterweb seems somewhat diminished tonight.

Whilst changing my Facebook status (as you do when you're avoiding work) to my current situation of slowly getting work done, but being delayed by the storm (in access to websites, as opposed to leaves on the line or some shit) I had to check the spelling of the word 'blaming'. That's what happens when you spend so much time thinking too much, you forget how to spell simple words. Anyway, I clicked into my Word window and wrote the word 'blaming'. It happened to land in the sentence: 'They can profitably produce publications for quite small groups of blaming people whose shared interest may be as obscure as smoking cigars (Cigar Afficionado) or keeping carp (Koi Carp)’ . Well, it made me chuckle. God, I have been writing too long.

God damn it I'm dying. There's a constant stream of mucus dripping from my nostrils, my tonsils feel like they've been attacked by the claws of an angry kitten, my head is throbbing and my limbs ache as if I've been carrying a pie-eating champion to a county fair. I've got a cold. And I can live with it. But to my female housemates it's manflu and they're calling the funeral directors for me.

So yeah, I'm feeling a bit shit today. It's no different from most days where I feel like shit, except that this time it's not self inflicted illness. I feel cheated. The other thing is, why do you always get ill at the most inapproriate of times? I was supposed to get up and crack on with studying today, but I found it impossible to rise from my slumber. I've now got an hour until work and have achieved an hour or so of slack stuying in the library. Looks like I'll be doing homework in the office at the shop. After work I've got friends that I haven't seen for a while to catch up with for a few beers. Tomorrow I've got a repeat performance of studying then work and then partying and Sunday it's just a nine hour stint in the shop. It's hard enough when I'm feeling healthy!

Finally, a right decision. And it was made by someone else.

I arose at around half three (following last night's lateness), feeling like shit and found plenty of distractions. Showering and eating breakfast seemed to take forever. I also discovered some chores around the house that needed doing.

The plan was to go to a friend's tonight to do some college work. This is because I find it impossible to do in my own home. By the time I got myself dinner I found out that my mate couldn't help out tonight. I had previously declined a 'come drinking' text from other mates because I had work plans. Chasing up the drinking plans, I find out that they have also fallen through. Looks like I might be able to keep myself in and do some writing this evening. That'll be a first. Although Spurs v PSV is on. There's only twenty minutes left, I'll get on with work in a minute.

It's gone five o'clock and I'm up blogging. I've just returned from a friend's where amongst other things such as playing the guitar, smoking and drinking, I also partook in a slight dabble of the blog. My college work blog Art School Writer?. It's quite bizarre having two. I think I'm getting addicted, I'll have eight before Easter!

I've got this far and forgotten the point of why I started writing. That's not much use. Should mention Q Bar and that I did some DJing. I'm part of the Q Collective apparently. I can see myself getting distracted by that quite easily, what with the head first diving into my music collection and the time consuming, nay, time erasing process of burning tracks on to CDs and playlists on to cases. I have however, on a positive in a work-related way, come up with a great idea for a few features to write and am slowly getting back into the dissertation managing to both a write and think about it with slight interest.

It's now half five-ish, I should sleep (although I don't have to get up in the morning for anything). I think I'll have a quick session on the poker and line up some tunes for next week.

My inability to do anything right is starting to become abundantly clear. Well, I say 'starting' like it's recent revelation when in fact it's been playing on my mind for a number of months now. It's just that I haven't really found any hard evidence until now which would support a decent moan.

I've just returned from the pub after watching Manchester United play a boring 90 minutes against Lyon. Fortunately, they won 1-0. That's not the problem. Last week I came home deflated and some what miffed after seeing them pull back a 1-0 deficit to draw 1-1. One hundred and eighty minutes of my time that I could have spent otherwise. (Like studying for once perhaps.) But as a loyal fan I followed their progress regardless. The last three matches that I haven't been able to watch (due to either my shitty job or the stupid licensing laws that prohibit live televised Saturday afternoon games) United have won 3-0 against Fulham, 4-0 against Arsenal in the cup and destroyed Newcastle 5-1. Oh yeah, I managed to catch the first half of the 2-1 defeat to City in the derby. Funny that. To recap then, I've missed three games and 12 goals, but seen two and two.

This seems to have a haunting resemblance to my luck in general day to day life. I decide to do something, it turns out to be the wrong decision. I decide not to do something and it turns out that I should have. Now yesterday I said that I wasn't going to go drinking with my friends and do some school work. Instead, I dumped the school work and went drinking which resulted in no work, a rather long hangover and a night (and the majority of today) where I should be being productive. Whilst in the pub I received a text message inviting me to do some more drinking (I stuck to tea throughout the game, it's probably what kept me awake). I responsibly declined and am now getting my creative juices flowing writing this. There is a one hundred per cent chance that when I see my friends tomorrow they'll tell me what a great night I missed out on and how I should have been there because INSERT UNLIKELY BUT DESIRABLE SITUATION HERE.

Work related avoidance.

I need to write 2000 words on representations of masculinity (and other such bollocks) in poker magazines for my dissertation tonight. It was meant to be done about two weeks ago maybe. Two months ago perhaps. Yeah, that's it. I was supposed to do that over Christmas. But before I get to work on that I need to get in the mood.

That's why I've logged on to a $3.25 multi table tournament. Before that I had a smoke. I really hope I go deep otherwise work is either gonna be no fun, or not done. And that's the worst thing. I could in theory put it off til tomorrow. I just need it out of my head. I'm sick of having stuff stuck in my brain, my brain refusing to allow myself to get my arse in gear and put it down on the screen. I must be masochistic or something, because I feel like shit, head fucked and I can't seem to get myself off it.

So either way: I end up cashing in the tournament and decide to celebrate or I don't and get seriously pissed off, don't do any work and go and get drunk.

Tournament update: Well I just hit a few hands and got up to around $14,000 by pushing and calling all ins with pretty good cards. Then, because I wasn't paying attention (writing this bloody page) I called an all in with K-J without checking to see how much it was. It was half my stack. He had and A-Q which held up and now I've got to start again. Luckily, whilst writing this and not playing so distractedly (I invented that word), I've managed to sneak back up to $10k.

Well the good news is I'm celebrating. The bubble burst with me sat comfortably against it's moist warm insides. How much I win is another matter. Someone just took down a monster and now has three times my stack, and I'm lying in third out of eight!

Wow, that was stupid. I get A-Q in the small blind, folds to the button who calls, I raise 4 BB, big folds and dealer calls. The flop comes down K-9-7, completely missing, I push which is for over half the pot. Dealer takes his time and calls with K-10. No Ace on the turn or river and I've just cocked up a good chance for a better cash. Fuck putting off work for drinking, I'm having another game.