We came, we saw... we went to the pub and had daiquiris

Now that Lady Miros and I are well and truly spliced, to have and to hold and all that jazz, we've both been tossing ideas around as to what sort of general everyday things we'd like to do better from this point forward. Alice, being a bit sick, declared with great confidence that Alice Purle was going to be ten times the poker player that Alice Vinnicombe used to be, a fair boast indeed considering Ms. Vinnicombe's undoubted talent and fine record in a wide variety of comps. AP seemed insistent though (born optimist), so it was off north to the bog-end that is Luton on Friday night, for Mr and Mrs Purle's prestigious debut as a married couple. I was displeased to note a conspicuous lack of bunting and congratulatory banners adorning the buildings, nearly-buildings and once-buildings in and around the Black Hole of Bedfordshire. Perhaps somebody told them the wrong day.

Anywho, despite the disappointment of there being no paparazzi, no journos, no fans, no stalkers, in fact pretty much nobody whatsoever, we dusted down our egos and endeavoured to get heads-up together in the goddamn tournament. This plan didn't last long, about 4 hands in fact, as Alice bounced out of the event in a rather funny and unusual way which she would not appreciate me repeating. Not quite the debut Mrs Purle had anticipated. Anyway, having earned a timeform squiggle next to her name, she at least redeemed herself by brutalising a few grown men in the cash game, while I eventually failed to outdraw A3 with AJ, so at least the good lady emerged the big winner on the evening. Funny old game.

Keen to transfer her cash form to tournaments, we then schlepped across to London on Thursday, where we hooked up with Oakley and Ellis for what was supposed to be a £100 freezeout in a dubious Mayfair establishment called The Games Room. It was only after we had drawn for seats that we realised what a farce this tournament was going to be. Instead of a 100 freezeout it was a bizarre rebuy tournament - 150 the opening sit-down, with an hour for £20 rebuys. What in the name of fuckweasels is that all about? As if this wasn't enough to sow the seeds of doubt, the manager of this spieler then - with no small measure of pride - announced that from the original 150, a whole 50 POUNDs (!!) was contributed to the prize pool!! An eerie silence descended, broken only by the sound of our collective jaws dropping. Needless to say we were out the door quicker than you could say 'pull the other one, it's got bells on'. So much for that idea.

The really amazing thing is that we were the only ones to leave. Apparently the other 20 chumps found a 66% rake entirely acceptable. This was probably something to do with the fact that they were having 2 grand last-longers with each other. What a country.

In the end this turn of events was a real boon. We retired as a group to the nearest bar, imbibed a few very pleasant cocktails, and I honoured tradition by wanking away some loose change to Mr. Ellis playing Liar's Poker. Inevitably we also found our way to Clerkenwell Road, where karma rewarded me with an incredible rush of cards, and I made an absolute mint in the cash game. I really should go out more often.

I don't know what the moral of the story is, but just remember this: if you ever get word of some dodgy game in Mayfair, in The Games Room in Chesterfield Street, don't even entertain the notion of turning up. Unless you're just going to laugh at them, and maybe start a fight, which would be much more fun. Let me know if that's the plan, I might just come myself.

Lazy days

JETS YTD: what difference

Yesterday was a real low point in terms of personal laziness. I was actually quite impressed with myself. I just felt dog tired all day, and if Lord Miros feels tired, you can guaranteee Lord Miros ain't gonna do shit all day long. And so it proved.

Actually, that's not strictly true. Halfway through the afternoon I did feel a slight pang of guilt about lying on the sofa all day eating Coco Pops. Well, alright, it wasn't strictly guilt. It was boredom. I had five minutes to kill before Tour of Duty and there's only so many times you can abuse yourself in one afternoon. Carried along on this brief energetic crest, I struggled off the sofa, staggered 3 feet to the computer, and had a bet on a horse (Moktabes), which duly trotted up. That was the beginning and the end of my working day. Impressively I then managed to regain the sofa without need of an oxygen mask or adrenaline shot. The life of me.

It's not my fault. I can't help it. There's just so much great stuff on TV I can't really find a reason to do much else.

Anyway, gotta go. Hornets From Hell is just about to start on the Discovery Channel. You see, at least I'm learning something.

I love my wife

JETS YTD: +£45,513 (although it might as well be a million, their top two QBs are fucked for the season, marv)

Warning: readers of a nauseous or bitter disposition should not read the following entry. Go and have some nice biscuits instead.

Well, it's been a long while since my last real blog entry. My most humble apologies. As you can imagine, I've had rather a lot on my plate, although that's not really a viable excuse. The truth is I'm just damn lazy and, as I said elsewhere, the blog started to seem too much like a job. If I'm not enjoying something, I won't do it. Still, I'm back now and, hopefully, ready to roll and update regularly. I make no promises though.

Loads of mad shit has happened in the past few weeks, with mercifully little of it being poker or gambling related. Obviously the most significant event was the long-awaited marriage to my beloved soulmate. I may recount an anecdote or two about the wedding another time, but not today. Today I dedicate my thoughts to my stunning and beautiful new wife, Alice Mary Louise Purle.

It's honestly quite overwhelming to think that I now have a wife. I don't feel like an adult, so how can I have a wife? I don't feel grown up at all. I've never felt grown up. I don't even have a job, how can I be allowed to marry? What an amazing and baffling feeling this marriage lark is.

Anyway, the fact remains that I really am married, both legally and before the eyes of God, (even though he's just a pathetic human construct, but we won't discuss that now). And even though I jested in my speech that everyone would be invited to my next wedding, I'm afraid it's never going to happen. This is the one and only time Lord Miros will ever be married, that I can guarantee. Alice and I were made to last.

I feel I owe a lot to Alice. She's responsible for me becoming the more mature, well-rounded and sociable person I am today. When I first met her, (at university), it has to be said that I was a bit of a prick. Predictably, I was initially only interested in her because I wanted to get my nuts in; I wasn't even considering the possibility of anything long-term. And when it came to stringing girls along, I was an old hand. All my previous dalliances had simply seemed like amusing experiments. I enjoyed the charming, the seduction, the chase, the flirting, but it was never sincere. Never once. It was just a means to an end. I told them what they wanted to hear, but in reality I couldn't have cared less about them. You could say I was a bounder. I'd say I was a cunt.

I broke it off with girls at the drop of a hat, as soon as another one hoved into view. I'm ashamed to say I never stopped to consider the emotional impact it was having on them. Paradoxically, I also became dangerously obsessed with girls whenever they rejected me, which was quite often. I guess I was just a huge mass of insecurity. Alice was a different matter.

I remember in the early days, Alice and I were bounding along the high street in Exeter, and from nowhere she suddenly exclaimed: "look at the lampposts! I LOVE lampposts!" After I stopped laughing, I realised she had a point. I love lampposts too. Lampposts are the dogs bollocks. I'd just never stopped to consider it before. In fact I love lots of ridiculous crap which before now I'd looked upon with a very ambivalent eye. That's how my darling wife has influenced me. She has infectious enthusiasm for practically everything, and I love it. It reminds me how great everything is. Above and beyond that, she has a lust for life. That's what she gave me. That's why I owe her.

At first I thought Alice was just naive. I cynically believed that time and experience would dissolve her carefree nature. I'm glad to say I was wrong. In the seven years I've known her, she hasn't changed a bit. Touch wood, she never will. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Without Alice, I don't know where I'd be now. It's impossible to imagine I could have met anyone else as wonderful. I'd probably be well on the way to alcoholism, or a life of crime, or heroin addiction. Alice gives me a purpose to keep myself in line. She is my reason to live. I said in my speech that she is the only person I would give my life for, and I meant it without hesitation. If I had to die for her, I would. Her life is worth a dozen of mine.

So there you have it. That's my wife. She's also my best friend, my confidant, my therapist, and my rock. So any girls who are reading this, wet with desire just from reading my words, I've got bad news for you - Lord Miros is off the market. For good. You'll have to make do with one of the 3 billion other lads. I know, I know, please don't cry. Time is a great healer; you'll get over it one fine day.

I know this has all been sickeningly trite, but it had to be said. I want everyone to know how much I love my wife. If there's anything to be learned from this, it's that you should all go out there and find your very own soulmate. They're bound to be lurking around somewhere. Trust me, it's fucking marvellous.

Oh, and don't fuck with her at the poker table. She may be a sweet little kitten, but you'll also have me to answer to, and I'm a murderous bastard. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Room for a little one?

Ah, there's nothing like a freeroll. I'm surely the favourite for this thing. After all, bloggers only blog because they can't play for shit. Hey, hang on...

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