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.