Lord Miros and other animals

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Long dark teatime of the soul

It's been raining solidly all day. Normally I love the rain but today I took no joy in it; my only thought was how to avoid getting wet while dipping out for my regular bursts of nicotine. Very unlike me.

I think my mind is playing tricks on me. In so many ways, I've never been happier, and never had reason to be happier. In one month I'll be marrying my soulmate, who I love completely. My house is in the process of being repainted, and refurnished, and general revamped into a glorious technicolor pleasure palace with every mod con my heart could ever desire. Meanwhile my finances continue in the ascendancy, despite my Luton incompetence (25% of Action Dave got me out of it, nice one son). All is rosy in the garden of Miros.

So why do I wake up every now and then, and feel a sudden and inexplicable sense of gloom? Why do I sit in these poxy plo games on Stars, and feel nothing but ambivalence about whether I win or lose? I can't even find the motivation to negotiate the 5-minute walk to get the Racing Post. The other day I slept for seventeen hours straight. Seventeen!!! What the hell's wrong with me?

I blame it all on Luton. Going to that dreadful hellhole four times in one week was more than I could bear. It was ok most of the time, when playing or eating the buffet or grabbing a swift g+t, but then there were things which reminded me just why I hate people, and why I sometimes hate poker, and why I really hate Luton. Luton was a timely reminder of just what FUCKING ARSEHOLES people can be. I heard some guy slow-rolled someone for 8 MINUTES with quads. That's just not right. Lucky for him I wasn't at the table myself, I think I'd have belted him one on general principle. In another incident, I knocked some little twerp out of the omaha with a perfectly reasonable move, where I was basically 45/55 and sucked out on his top set. He went berserk. What right does he have to stand there criticising my play, calling me a wanker, right to my fucking face? What is WRONG with these cunts? Get some perspective!

Well, bollocks to it all. I'm sick of having to be in the same room as these people, I'm sick of pointless 'when to pass aces' debates on forums, I'm sick of this game and the selfish know-it-alls who dare to even share my oxygen. I'm going to find something useful to do with my spare time that might actually seem productive or helpful and not just a waste of time and effort like most of this futile nonsense.

Ok, that's enough. I can see the nurse coming and she doesn't look pleased. I'd better pretend to be having a fit.

Monday, August 08, 2005

Genocidal tendencies

Apologies for not updating for a while. It's been a very busy time at Miros Manor, what with subscribing to NASN, and the advent of exchange poker on Betfair, not to mention all these crazy festivals which are nearly attracting my attention. I did well to dodge the Vic this week (they have a dice table), but for some reason I can't resist the lure of Bedfordshire's Finest, so a week of long drives up the M1 and frenzied tournament spunking awaits.

About a week ago, I had a big shot at the 190k prize in the 500 on Stars, only to suffer a heart-wrenching beat which sent me spinning out in 25th. The howl of despair emanating from Banbury Close shook birds from their perch as far away as Amersham, and apparently caused two German Shepherds to eviscerate their innocently sleeping owner. Somewhat predictably, I woke up the next day in a foul and murderous mood. Fortunately I wasn't quite psychotic enough to spit-roast my two darling guinea pigs (Devon and Derek), but it was damn close. Their time will come.

Before long I spied a suitable vehicle on which to take out my frustrations - an ant's nest, or rather two separate nests, which had suddenly sprung up overnight on my newly-acquired lawn. The cheek of the bastards. I found it curious to note that one was a nest of black ants, while the other, not 18 inches away, was colonised by their rather more vicious red cousins. I whiled away a few happy minutes prodding the two camps towards each other, hoping for some running battles, but ants aren't very obliging at the best of times and I soon grew bored of their antics (no pun intended). It was time for some serious ethnic cleansing.

After kicking the mounds about a bit, which really pissed them off, I gave them a good long squirt with the hose, just for fun. They weren't impressed, but they also weren't dead. Hardy little buggers. Not to worry, the kettle only takes a minute to boil. Three sorties later, the grass was well and truly steaming, and the ants were well and truly fucked. They won't be doing that again in a hurry.

Well, just goes to show how little I know. Within one day the durable blighters were back, rebuilding their mound, replanting their larvae, and generally making a nuisance of themselves all over again. Oh, and the grass had died. Apparently it doesn't like boiling water as much as ants do. Bah.

Anyway, I decided to leave them to it. I'm not a heartless man deep down, and they'd come through a helluva lot, only to pick themselves back up again and get on with it. If only people were like that, the world would be a better place. But that's enough two-bit philosophy for one day.

Oh, and of course I wasn't feeling quite so bloodthirsty any more, having won another $10 comp on Stars, for $6300. I guess karma isn't that fussed about ants.