blonde poker forum

Praise silence for the very best of RED-DOG.

With the help of the magnificent Heid, we have ploughed through the basement to pull out all those words of wisdom, wonderful tales, and hilarious anecdotes for your viewing pleasure.

Everything written below is from RED-DOG and RED-DOG alone. None of it was composed my good self, I am merely the messenger.

This coincides with his recent Hall of Fame entry which I'm sure you will all agree, was richly deserved. I can only echo the words offered by TightEnd. It's a true honour to know Tom, and I hope, at some point, you all get the chance to meet him.

The thread is still under construction and may be added to in the future, so please bare with us.

At the head and foot of each post is a link to the original thread from which it was extracted from. Please feel free to venture back through the thread to read the post within it's original context.

The thread is for viewing purposes only.

Long live the DOG!

Enjoy...

(I think I need a big red book)  :D

Player Profiles (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=3348.0)


What is your Blonde Poker username?

RED-DOG, in upper case because the first time I tried to use it on a poker site it wouldn’t accept it in lower case

Which area do you live in?

I live in a sleepy little village nr Hinckley in Liecs, I’ve been here for almost five years now and it’s slowly beginning to feel like home although I will always be a Yorkshire man at heart

What is your marital status?

I married Mrs Red when I was nineteen; it was the smartest move I will ever make. To me, she represents everything that is good in this world. She is blessed with a sunny outlook on life, she is the eternal optimist, her glass is always half full. She doesn’t crave status, money or possessions; I have never been under pressure to fulfil any obligations, real or imagined. She has encouraged and supported me in everything I have ever done, when I falter, I look around and she is there, cheering me on from the sidelines. She makes me feel like I am the greatest man alive; I have no idea what I did to deserve her

Do you have any children and/or pets?

The answer to this question is never straightforward for me; you see one of our children, our only son, died when he was seven

as far as I’m concerned we will always have five children, but if I tell everyone that, they ask their names and ages and such (as you do) and then I have to explain about Tommy, that’s no problem for me, I love to talk about him, but sometimes other people find it difficult, and I don’t want to force that sort of thing on to them when they are obviously uncomfortable with it so sometimes I just say, ‘we have four girls’ and I whisper a silent apology to Tommy under my breath

My girls are my biggest worry and my greatest joy. Don’t get me wrong, they are good girls, Gypsy girls are brought up according to a strict moral code, which they enforce themselves voluntarily, so they have never brought us any drug, alcohol or “other” problems. They are beautiful, intelligent, hard working and they respect their parents. My two eldest are married and have given us six gorgeous grandchildren. We have taught them all to look out for each other (and they do) because Mrs Red and I won’t be around forever, I just worry about the intolerant world they inherit and the fact that they may be the last generation to live a way of life that is being legislated out of existence

as for pets, I grew up surrounded by animals, ours and other peoples, we always had horses and dogs, and my dad is a self taught authority on dogs and birds, especially British finches, which he has kept and bred all his life. When I was a small boy he taught me to catch wild birds without harming them, (Illegal now) and to train and work with dogs, to get inside their minds and think like they do. I used to go hunting (poaching really) with lurchers and terriers and I was so tuned in to them that I was almost a dog myself. This is the first time in my life that I haven’t had a dog, he would be left alone for long periods and, unlike cats, dogs don’t tolerate that too well and it wouldn’t be fair

When did you start playing poker?

I’m not exactly sure (I didn’t keep records back then) but I think it was late 2002, I saw Late night poker for the first time and I just knew instantly this was what I wanted to do. I didn’t have a computer (or a land landline) back then so it had to be ‘in at the deep end’ for me

My first ever game was at Annabelle’s in Coventry, Its right in the middle of the red light district
The first thing I saw as I pulled into the car park was a bloke running down the middle of the road, bleeding, and another bloke chasing him with a chair leg
When I entered the card room a chap was standing on one of the poker tables, trousers round ankles, mooning at the onlookers, the most evil looking bunch you ever saw, but they took me in, made me feel welcome and had endless patience with me, although I’m sure my skin got about two inches thicker from the continual ribbing

I still have a little pink slip, (9th, poker competition £30) my first ever prize money

Where can you be found playing live?

I consider Walsall Grovesnor to be my ‘Home’ card room, but I like to play the festivals at others, Luton, Blackpool, London, (Gutshot) etc if I can afford the buy in or win a satellite. I would love to play some of the events around Europe and I am so jealous when blonde goes on its travels. The live updates go a long way to making me feel a part of it all though

What is your favourite online site?

I would have to say Ladbrokes, they don’t give much away and they make some decisions that seem so stupid as they defy belief but I think their customer service is fantastic and they offer plenty of multis with a good range of buy in’s to suit all pockets. Having said that, I really like the 10k and the 15k on Crypto, and Blue Square run some great value satellites to prestige events, oh and I like Stars for stt’s

What is your handle there?

RED-DOG everywhere

What is the harshest beat you have inflicted on an opponent?

I travelled to Blackpool with a couple of friends and before we left I had a very volatile curry

Who are your poker heroes?

I have many poker heroes,these are just a couple, the latest one is Andy Black, I met him at Cardiff and I loved his interview on 425, not only is he a world class player, I think he cares about people, he’s a nice guy on his own right

Ironside, Who demonstrates every day how to take really bad beat, I admire his determination integrity, loyalty and kindness. He is a shining example to us all

Who is your best friend in poker?

I have made more genuine friends through poker than I have ever had in my life, I’m grateful

What are your greatest accomplishments in poker?

I’ve made a few final tables in ranking events and a handful of other ‘biggies’ Online I’ve won the $50k ‘Sunday Lunch’ won the $45k a few times, had a 2nd and a 3rd in the ‘Daddy’ plus a lot of smaller stuff. My greatest accomplishment is managing to make a living from poker for almost a year now (Please don’t make me go back to work)

What is your most embarrassing moment in poker?

OMG, don’t remind me, there are so many.

Calling all in for a club flush without a club in my hand

Sitting at a poker table for two hours then going to the loo to find a huge bogey swinging from one nostril on a long slender thread

Finding out that my new sponsor was never actually going to pay for anything

Listening to men who should know better talk filth in front of young female dealers

Which Blondepoker thread did you enjoy the most?

What’s in a name?

The one with tikay's unticked box explanation

Rob Yong’s diaries

Say something nice about the person above you

This one

The thing I love most about BlondePoker is?

The community spirit, the sense of belonging. There is no class system. Beginners and experts, rich and poor, black and white, even the Scots, all rubbing along together

My biggest pet hate in poker is?

Players who are nice when they’re winning and nasty when they’re losing

Players who blame everyone but themselves when things go wrong

Players who think a bad beat is losing a hand of poker

What are your main interests outside poker?

Outdoor survival skills, music, reading, eating, travel, people, and I have a strange fascination for wristwatches, not the mot expensive ones, but the most practical, well made ones

Tell us something about yourself none of us would know

I can tickle trout

Some song lyrics and poetry make me cry (but they don’t make me sad)

I can hold my breath for over two minutes

I have spent several days in the company of Lord Avebury, and the Duke of Devonshire came to our caravan for a cup of tea, then he invited us back to his gaff, nice place, (Big garden)

I am a crack shot with a catapult

What is your favourite pie filling?

Steak and kidney

Who is your favourite singer?

Too many to mention

What is your favourite song?

Again too many but for lyrics it would be something like The Rose, by Bette Middler

Somewhere over the rainbow, by Eva Cassidy makes me go cold and the hair on the back of my neck stand up

Bat out of hell by Meatloaf and Teenage Kicks by The Undertones really do something to my brain; they leave me breathless

Who is your ideal man or woman?

Apart from Mrs Red, the woman I most admire is Ruth Altbeker Cyprys, a young Jewish mother who survived Auschwitz, not really what you asked I know but I am unashamedly plugging her book ‘Jump for Life’ and I urge you to read it

What is your favourite holiday destination?

I loved New York, vibrant, exciting and strangely familiar, like walking on to a film set. Egypt is just stunning

If I could change one thing about myself I would?

Listen more and talk less


November 5th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=3348.0)

Strategy For Shootouts (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=1139.msg26349#msg26349)


Below are some points that I think you should bear in mind during a shootout

1 Try to take position behind the horse trough

2 keep your head below the level of the trough, especially whilst re loading

3 watch out for the man on top of the saloon with the rifle

4 only fire at people wearing black hats

5 when there is only one baddy left, stand up and walk towards him

6 Deliver a monologue on good v evil

7 Allow him to shoot you in the shoulder (gun hand if possible)

8 Finish him off with a single shot that flings him backwards through the saloon window

9 stagger into saloon to hear his last words

10 walk out of saloon to applause from grateful but cowardly townsfolk

11 Hug beautiful girl who has a crush on you, but dont kiss her

12 ride into sunset


August 5th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=1139.msg26349#msg26349)

How Long Can It Last? (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=1016.msg24157#msg24157)


This is a great thread, I am very interested in peoples views on this subject, more please

I believe it is possible to make a money online but you really have to apply yourself, it isnt always fun and it certainly isnt easy

I started playing fulltime poker at the beginning of this year and I have kept detailed records of my wins/losses

I had an amazing run during Feb/Mar when I turned a profit of $90k, but I knew that was just a blip, reality is a little different, but Feb/Mar aside, my online "earnings" work out to $4470 per month (so far)

A fellow blondite sent me a PM asking me what my thoughts on "Full time" online play were, for anyone who is interested, I have reproduced my reply below

Hi, In answer to your bankroll question, I suppose I initially just threw a couple of hundred into an account, and when it was gone I threw in another couple, remember, at this time I had no intention of playing poker for a living, I was just trying to see if I could turn a profit, if I built my bankroll up to five or six hundred I played bigger games and if I got skint I went back to the smaller stuff, I tried not to deposit more than 100 per week

By the time I decided to go "full time" I had already had some success and had a good idea of what games suited me and what I thought was a reasonable expectation, I figured I needed 10k to give it a proper bash, I only play multis online so the paydays can be quite far apart and you have to realise you will lose a lot more times than you win

This brings me to what I consider to be the most important aspects of online play for profit, but please bear in mind these things suit me and my type of game, you might have to change/modify them to suit yourself

1 if you started poker as a live player and had some success this can be a disadvantage, online players dont have the ability to lay a hand down like live players do, its so easy to press that call button and they dont have to face the ridicule of the other players face to face at the poker table, also, if they get knocked out they dont have to get into the car, drive home and wait until tomorrow night for another game, so dont try to make moves early, and bet your monster hands big, they will call

2 Gather as much information as you can, restrict your play to one or two sites initially, you will find that the same players play in the same games night after night and you can soon get to know their games, dont play two games at once, dont watch the telly between hands, and concentrate even if your not involved, make notes, MAKE NOTES!

3 Dont make the mistake of playing any old game thats available at the time, the value varies enormously, plan your schedule and stick to it

4 Try not to get angry, upset or frustrated, Its so easy to go on tilt but so hard to recognise or admit it, Dont play when you are too tired, or have something else on your mind, If your game isnt what it should be, have a day off.

5 Find the best games, the ones that suit you and offer the best value, watch out for guaranteed freeze outs that dont have enough entrys to make the guarantee, take advantage of other peoples "bad play times" i.e. 9am on Poker stars, when its 3am for the Americans and they are tired, losing, and tilting, or midnight on Ladbrokes when they come back from the pub

6 Keep records, where you played, how well you think you played, your results, where you make your best profit and your biggest losses, Be totally honest with yourself

7 please keep it in perspective, dont play with money you cant afford to lose or when its loss will affect those around you

I hope you dont think Im setting myself up as some sort of oracle here, I am the last person to give advice as a rule, these few points are just meant to something for you to take on board as you develop your game

I wish you the very best of luck and if I can help in any way, please feel free to ask

Tom


July 27th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=1016.msg24157#msg24157)

Your Forum - Do You Want To Change It? (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=931.msg22504#msg22504)


About 12 years ago I was invited to go to the states to stay with some Native Americans for a few weeks. Although they are modernised now they still try to keep there history and identity alive, so for a month or so each year they erect tepees on tribal land and live the old way. They let me join in with many of their activities including a form of rugby where the whole tribe takes part, the women can run with the ball (rawhide stuffed with grass) but when the men have it they must stand still and throw it. We hollowed out box turtles to make rattles and, honour of honours; I took part in a POW wow.

Anyway, the point of the story is, Id been warned about the difficulty in getting a proper cup of tea and I cant live without it, so I took with me some tea bags, a small kettle, and a kettle prop (used to suspend the kettle over a fire)

The Indians took great interest in my tea making ritual and sat around with solemn faces as I brewed up, eventually one and then another were persuaded to try a sip, some hated it but some really liked it. When I went home I gave my remaining teabags to the one that liked it the most and he made me a dream-catcher from beads and dried sinews and a tail feather from a whip o will, it hangs above me as I write.


July 22nd 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=931.msg22504#msg22504)

If (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=843.msg20723#msg20723)


Oh Tony
Dear Tony
How I like your profile pic
That nicotine soaked creature always gave me such a kick
I love that frightening monster with his pinpoint eyes of red
And he is oh so happy with Blondepoker on  his head
Oh Tony
Dear Tony
How I shiver with delight
How I smile to see your message in the darkness of the night
My eyes are all a-twinkle, my breath I hold in bliss
When I feel the sweet vibration of your tender virtual kiss
Oh Tony
Dear Tony
How I need you so, my dear
And I long to hear the words you text like whispers in my ear
I promise that I'll love you and I'll promise to be true
Just as long as you will let me keep on texting you
Oh Tony
Dear Tony
Only one thing makes me sad
Your live updates are wonderfull
But your poker is so bad


July 13th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=843.msg20723#msg20723)

Player Database THE FUTURE! (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=701.msg17269#msg17269)


Modesty aside, (easy for me)

During my first few months of online poker in early 2004 I couldnt seem to show a profit, I was doing ok in live games but I was a failure in cyberspace, so I decided to try to pinpoint what exactly the difference was.

First of all, I was only playing multis live, so I did the same online, no more cash, and no more stt's. Next I thought about which multis would suit my game best, I like a long clock, 15 min or better, (by the way in 15 min online you see about the same no of hands as you do in 45 min live) plenty of starting chips, in most multis you get 1500 but you can get 2000 or even 3000, and I like freeze outs or a buy in big enough to make players think a little before calling my raise (this last only in the later stages and only because of the potential prize money, not the cost of a rebuy)

My results started to improve but I still wasnt doing as well as I thought I should be and I started to wonder if I would have to play differently online, so I spent a few nights watching instead of playing and the thing I noticed most was online players will call, in live play if you have a monster hand you tend to try to disguise it, and by playing it cagey you often dont get full value from it, online, especially in the early stages, players tend to call with top pair even if you bet 1500 all in to a pot of 75, but by the same token you cant push someone off a pot early on. Toward the latter end of the comp I find it best to play as if I were in a live game again.

So I started the second half of 2004 by playing only the games described, I didnt try anything fancy early on unless I knew the player was good enough to put a hand down (I keep extensive player notes) and if I had a monster I just moved in

Unbelievably, by the end of the year I was making more money playing online poker than I was from my small business, by no means a fortune, (my business was a small, one man jobbie) but very exciting, I had never earned a penny before without hard graft being involved, but I just couldnt do both, I was playing poker until 3am and then trying to get up and go to work every day, so at the beginning of 2005 I decided to mothball my little business and give poker a proper go, It wasnt an easy step to take, I've worked hard all my life and it seemed like I was shirking my responsibilities. But, I reasoned, if I dont try it I will always be thinking, "what if?"

Perhaps the poker gods smiled upon me, because in the first three months of this year I won enough to allow me to continue until 2006 and I have been making a steady living since, Its not always easy, there are dry spells, and I have periods when the outdraws make me want to cry with frustration, you have to be dedicated and disciplined, but I'm loving it, I have to pinch myself every morning, I look out of the window when its raining and think how nice it is not to be out there working in it, and I have made some of the best friends a man could wish for within the poker community, ordinary working class blokes like myself, world class poker players, and the odd lawyer or TV star 

I have no Idea if or when the bubble will burst, but our needs are modest, and whatever happens, my life has been immensely enriched, I will have no regrets.

June 30th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=701.msg17269#msg17269)

What's In A Name...? (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=496.msg11701#msg11701)


This is all your fault Teacake, fancy bringing food up on a poker forum, (no pun intended) and Kev speculated about what I like to snack on whilst playing well...this is by no means complete list but it might give you some idea of my tastes

I like anything pastry based

Anything with meat in it

Things with chocolate on

Fried things

Dairy products

Anything sweet

All sandwiches

Icecream

Chips, (fish optional)

Pasta, all shapes/types

Toast, with little islands of unmelted butter

Bombay mix

Curry....

You know, this reminds me of a time, years ago, when my old mucker Jimmy Calladine and I were re sealing some corrugated chicken houses on a battery hen farm. Hundreds of them there were, and the stench was indescribable, everyone was sick on there first visit, but we didnt mind, we were earning a crust

Anyway, it was heavy, dirty work and too much for the two of us, so we employed about half a dozen lads on a day to day, cash in hand basis.

Now this chicken farm was out in the sticks, miles away from anywhere, which was just as well considering the smell, so we used to stop at a transport cafe on the way there and say to the lads, "eat whatever you want boys, there's nothing else untill we finish"

Well, this particular day we had a new guy, Trevor, stick thin he was, and about six foot seven tall. When he got into the cafe we couldnt believe it, he just ate everything in sight. Sausage egg and chips we had, he had a double portion with extra bread and butter, and after polishing it off in record time it was, "av yer finished  wiv them chips" or "don't you want that sausage"

When we arrived at the farm we all piled out of the van, Trevor got one whiff of the terrible smell and promptly threw his guts up.

After a few minutes he regained his composure, wiped his eyes and stood back to admire his handywork. There, resting amongst the remains if his jettisoned breakfast, was almost a whole sausage.

" I'm not wasting that bugger" he said, and he scooped it up and ate it!

By the way Teacake, welcome to the forum.


June 12th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=496.msg11701#msg11701)

Decision Time At Walsall (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=986.msg23279#msg23279)


I played the 300 freeze out at Walsall last night, we started at 9:15, by 9:30 I was on the motorway heading home having played just one hand

Please bear with me, Im no Rob Yong, his thoughts seemed to just ooze out across the page like red wine spilled on a white tablecloth, unmistakeable, stark and vivid, mine are more like gravy stains on your tie, smaller and harder to see. A lot of factors contributed to the way I played this hand, Im not making any excuses, I just need to set the scene

First of all, I have been examining my game over the last few months, I have been worried that I play too tight, and this feeling has been compounded by some recent events, one being Lawrence Gosneys fantastic win in Vegas, another was some of the things Rob Yong wrote in his diary, yet another was tikays recent successes and his admission that he had made an effort to change his game because that he felt he could often go deep into a tournament but always ended up struggling with a short stack.

I mulled these things over at great length, trying to convince myself that I had to make some drastic alterations, and the more I thought about it, the less comfortable I was with changing my game and forcing myself to play looser, its not in my nature, I too often go deep into tournaments and end up on the short stack, but by then I have a good Idea of who is doing what at the table, I have had the time to find some proper cards to play, and if I make a move or two I can often get them through because I have established a rock image. I came to the conclusion that, although my game has lots of room for improvement, it would be wrong to try to change the whole nature of my game, I dont think that T J Cloutier would benefit from suddenly trying to play like Gus Hansen, or vice versa, I have shared a table with Lawrence, Rob, Thewy, and many other renowned aggressive players and I have been comfortable in their company and have sometimes been able to take advantage of their attacking style. I resolved to continue to work hard at improving my game, but I wasnt going to make any drastic, out of character changes, I was still going to play it my way and I was happy with my decision

So, on to Walsall, I love the 300 freeze out at Walsall, 6000 starting chips, 45 minute clock, just my cup of tea. I arrived about an hour early and was surprised when several people came up to me and said, Hello, are you Red Dog from Blondepoker?

I enjoyed a terrific buffet with a couple of friends who, for the record, are very good players. Their conversation included lines like Got to get busy early and Dont want to come back to a short stack tomorrow. Then, a magnified voice booms out Will all players in tonights no limit holdem competition please go to the card room, We were off.

Seat 3 table 4, I was pleased with my table, one or two unknowns, a blondite, (Kojak) in seat 2 another blondite (Riverdave) in seat 9, and the rest were Walsall faces that I know quite well but cant really name.

I didnt play the first hand, but it is relevant so I will describe it as best as I can. I fold, seat 4 calls for 50, seat 9 (riverdave) raises 200, seat 2, Blondite Kojak, re raises for 700, seat 4 and Riverdave both call. The flop comes 568 rainbow, Kojak bets 1000, seat 4 re raises for 2000, Riverdave folds and Kojak calls. The turn card is a 7, making a board of 5678, Kojak checks and seat 4 bets 2000, Kojak dwells for a minute or so and moves all in, then seat 4 dwells before calling. On their backs Kojak shows KK and seat 4 shows JJ, the river is a blank and Kojak doubles up, exit seat 4.

I think seat 4 can get away from this hand, he would be on a very short stack, but when you think about it, he has to know he is behind, if Kojak holds any pair above  with the exception 10s, he is beaten.

I pass my big blind to a small raise and then on my small blind, only the third hand of the night, I find AKo, the action moves around the table and picks up 1 caller, Kojak, on the button, raises 1300 into a pot of 125. This move proved to be the catalyst for all the things I had been fretting about over the last few weeks, What now I asked myself, why would he bet so much into such a small pot, has he got a monster, if so, why scare us off? I wondered if he had AK or possibly AQ, the size of the bet really threw me, I even thought for a moment about putting my AK down but I knew that wasnt really an option, so it would have to be a flat call or a raise, and at that moment all my doubts about my tight game came flooding back, I could see snatches of match reports saying how aggressive the winner had been, I heard again the words of my friends, Gotta make chips early Dont want to come back tomorrow to a short stack I could see Thewy pushing his chips into the middle, I could see Lawrences bracelet, I had to be bold.

I raise, I said, 3000. Before I had finished counting out my chips Kojak had moved all in. By this time I was incapable of rational thought, I hadnt realised how much I had struggled with the idea of making drastic changes to my game until this precise moment, now I had to decide whether to call a 9000 pot for my last 3000 this early in the comp with AKo or lay it down pre flop, I called, Kojak flipped over aces and I was out

Driving home I felt purged, I had exorcised my demons, I now knew for sure I wouldnt be changing my natural game by trying to play in a way that I was uncomfortable with, It wasnt that one hand, That was just the point where it all came to a head, my mind was clear now, I felt free.

It was still early when I got home, so I entered a multi online and won $1000, and I know I played better than I had for a while, I seemed to know what I was doing again. On Sunday I played another and won $2000. It was nice to get the results, but what really made me happy was the way I felt as I played, I enjoyed it. Im not Devilfish or Crazy Horse, Im RED-DOG, come and get me.


July 25th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=986.msg23279#msg23279)

Live Update From The Sofa (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=611.msg14368#msg14368)


Its all very well and good...but this morning I'm faced with a pile of washing up, should heve done it last night I know

My dad gave me this advice once. (How to decide who's turn it is to wash up) "Look down your trousers, if you have a willy, it's not your turn"


June 21st 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=611.msg14368#msg14368)

Odds (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=567.msg13325#msg13325)


Scientists at NASA have developed a gun built specifically to launch dead chickens at the windshields of airliners, military jets and the space shuttle, all traveling at maximum velocity. The idea is to simulate the frequent incidents of collisions with airborne fowl to test the strength of the windshields.

British engineers heard about the gun and were eager to test it on the windshields of their new high speed trains. Arrrangements were made. But when the gun was fired, the engineers stood shocked as the chicken hurtled out of the barrel, crashed into the shatterproof shield, smashed it to smithereens, crashed through the control console, snapped the engineer's backrest in two and embedded itself in the back wall of the cab.

Horrified Brittons sent NASA the disastrous results of the experiment, along with the designs of the windshield, and begged the US scientists for suggestions.

NASA's response was just three words, "Thaw the chicken".


June 16th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=567.msg13325#msg13325)

Gutshot! (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=506.msg11222#msg11222)


I made my first visit to the Gutshot card room tonight to play in the 200 freeze out sponsored by William Hill, and, by the way, if your going to sponsor a tourney, adding 25% (5k) to the prize pool is definitely the way to do it, I have to say I was really impressed.

I started my journey early because Im notoriously bad at finding venues I havent been to before, and London is a big place to get lost in. But with the help of directions emailed to me by my dad from a computer programme that he has (isnt technology wonderful) I arrived two hours before kick off. Side street parking was easier than expected and free after 6.30pm, but if you arrive before that time dont forget you have to pay the congestion charge, 5 from any paper shop. Ian, The Belly, Ollenshaw (sorry if I spelled it wrong Ian) told me that when he got to the congestion charge zone it was 6.25 so he stopped and went into a pub for five minuets, Id rather spend my fiver on beer he said

When I got to the door I was met by a smiling tikay who, for some strange reason, was wearing a sensible jacket and long trousers. He introduced me to Phil, the big cheese from William Hill, who was a great bloke and very approachable, as were the rest of the W H crew. They presented me, and all the other players with a nice logoed handbag or manbag or whatever they call them, Ive wanted one ever since I saw Junior fish a kit Kat out of his at Walsall.

The venue itself had 10 poker tables, complete with black baize and nice padded edges to rest your arms on, 6, I think, downstairs in the basement, and 4 in the bar/dining area, there is also a side room with about 10 computers offering online games

I was determined not to look at the menu because Im trying to lose a bit of weight but someone walked past me with the most tempting plate of bangers and mash you ever saw, and I knew the diet was doomed. Still I thought, Ill give the rack of ribs and the fillet steak a miss and just have a burger. When it arrived it was like a cows left buttock in a bloomer, complete with proper chips and a salad, it was a meal big enough to fill an elephant.

So, on to the game, I had drawn seat 8 table chen (all the tables have names) but I thought he said table ten, so I asked the dealer is this ten? Chen he said, ten? I said, Chen he answered. After about five minuets of this I just sat down.

There was not too much action for the first 30 minuets or so, 5000 starting chips and no one was in any hurry, then my first playable hand, AQos in the sb, there were two callers and I just made up the blinds, the bb checked. The flop came Q97 two diamonds, I raised for 500 and the bb re raised 1100 more, the others folded and I took a good hard look at my opponent. He was Jewish, I could tell that from his skullcap and the way he shrugged his shoulders, but thats all the information I got, I called. The turn card was the 10h, I didnt like it but I confidently raised 1000, he confidently went all in, I passed, goodbye half my stack. I took no further part in the game apart from paying the blinds until the first break. I cast a furtive eye toward tikays unusually large stack on my way upstairs; my 10 last longer bet wasnt looking too good either.

When I got back to the bar area I was shocked to find they had laid on a very nice buffet, I didnt want to hurt their feelings so I did my duty.

Back down stairs only to have the table broken, (I had just paid the blinds) and be sent back upstairs to join a table,( whos name escapes me) seat two. By this time the blinds were getting big and my stack was getting small so I was looking for a spot to make my move. It came quite soon, it was folded around to me and I went all in with AQo, 6 players left to act, now pay attention, I want opinions about this. Seats 3, 4 and 5 fold, seat 6 has a little dwell and calls, all in, he then holds his cards up in plain view of seat 7 who has still to act, I call for a ruling.

So, the card room manager comes over and we explain what happened, the ruling is, the hand is live, but must be exposed to everyone. Now I dont like this, seat 7 has free information, now that cant be helped, but seat 8 hasnt acted yet either, why should he get to see them? I cant benefit from this info, Im already all in, and when seat 7 folds there is no reason for seat 8 to see the cards. Anyway, after looking at the now face up hand KJo seat 8 also calls with A7, a J hits the turn and exposed card man trebles up

In the end, it actually worked in my favour I won a small side pot of 800, which I used to pay the bb, 500 and call a raise for my last 300 with 5 3, his pocket  made quads, exit RED-DOG

I had a great time, I loved the venue, Will Hill did a great job, they can add 5k to my prize pool whenever they like

But what do you think about the ruling?


June 10th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=506.msg11222#msg11222)

Getting In The Money (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=437.msg9950#msg9950)


Hi kid, this is not to offer advice as such, Im not qualified, but to say welcome to the fourm and to offer an opinion

 I see it there are many ways to play this game, I know some excellent players who play very loose, and others who play very tight, you have to play the type of game suits you, but you can try to incorporate aspects from other peoples game and so improve your own

I've had the privlige of sharing a table with Mr Carlo Citrone on a couple of occasions just latley, Carlo has great presence at the table, he seems to hover over it like a hawk, seeing everything, waiting to pounce. He does this thing where he becomes motionless and goes into a long, long dwell as he replays the action in his mind, then when he acts I find it easy to believe that he knows everything and can see right through me

On the other hand, Kieth The Camel Hawkins sits there as if poker is the last thing on his mind, dosnt interupt his conversation as he raises/calls with rubbish. But watch out, Camels may look like beasts of burden but they can be very dangerous, and you try putting one on a hand

Good players seem to have a strong basic game of a type that suits them, and the ability to modify it to suit the situation, and that comes from experience as much as anything

I think learning about poker is learning about yourself, working on your strengths and weaknesses

One last thing, try to keep it in perspective, enjoy the game for what it is, good and bad, you will meet some of the nicest people in the world and certainly some of the most interesting, It isnt all about money and winning and losing

Good Luck, Tom.


May 29th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=437.msg9950#msg9950)

What's In A Name...? (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=496.msg10932#msg10932)


I think it would be interesting if people told us why they chose their alias. Mine was born when no one played very much poker in this country, at least not that I knew of, It was all three card bragg, shoot, crib, pontoon, crash etc

we were playing these games in a dealers choice sort of fashion but people were coming up with werid and wonderfull games that no one, including themselves, knew the rules to

Not to be outdone when my turn came to choose I said, "Montana red dog" cos Id heard some cowboys in a film say it, of couse I didnt know how to play it, still dont, but, according to the rules I made up, my hand happend to be the best

I did have another alias, bestowed upon me by the regulars of Annabelles in coventry, T.A.P.S.
(thick as pig shit) but Im trying to live that one down


June 8th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=496.msg10932#msg10932)

The Blonde Forum And Spamming (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=591.msg13851#msg13851)


The truth about SPAM

Some of us, myself included have been slicing the spam a bit too thick of late

We need to remember what spam is, a poor substitute for the real thing

Over doing it is like taking your brief case to the pub and trying to sell your mates insurance. Im not pointing the finger at anyone, Its just that tikays post made me realise that its easy to jump on to this particular band waggon, but its hard to jump off as it gathers momentum

We all have to earn a crust, but by the same token, we all need somewhere to come and relax

For those of you who are partial to the odd bit of spam, I hope you find the following interesting

By World War II, Hormel had sold twenty thousand tons of Spam. Then, during the wartime meat rationing, Spam got popular...
If all the cans of Spam ever eaten were put end-to-end, they would circle the globe at least ten times.
In the U.S. alone, 3.8 cans of Spam "are consumed every second"(assuming SPAM is eaten 24 hours a day, 365.25 days a year).
Senator Robert Byrd of West Viginia eats a sandwich of SPAM and mayonnaise on white bread three times a week.
Residents of Hawai'i eat an average of four cans of SPAM per person per year, more than in any other place on Earth (Elsewhere in the Universe, who knows?).
By 1959, a billion cans of SPAM had been sold. The two billion mark was hit in 1970, followed by three billion in 1980, four billion in 1986, and five billion in 1993. That's a lot of SPAM!
In Korea, SPAM is sold in stylish presentation gift boxes of nine cans each. SPAM stolen from army PXs can be found on the Korean black market. And there are Korean imitations called Lo-Spam, Dak, Plumrose, and Tulip, to ensure that no one need go without.
Nikita Krushchev once credited SPAM with the survival of the WWII Russian army. ''Without SPAM, we wouldn't have been able to feed our army,'' he said.
SPAM is sold in over 99% of U.S. grocery stores.
The SPAM luncheon meat trademark is registered in 93 countries.
Over 60 million people in the U.S. eat SPAM.
SPAM is made in two U.S. locations - Austin, Minnesota, and Fremont, Nebraska - and seven other countries: England, Australia, Denmark, Phillipines, Japan, Taiwan, and South Korea.
In 1989, the U.S. armed forces bought 3.3 million pounds of SPAM.
Over 141 million cans of SPAM are sold worldwide each year.


June 19th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=591.msg13851#msg13851)

Live Update From The Sofa (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=611.msg14319#msg14319)


Hi guys, for those of you that cant be here on my sofa, I thought Id try to share the experience with you

I arrived quite late this morning after dropping my wife and daughter off at east midlands airport at 5 am, (little break in Spain with her sisters) I didnt get out of bed until 11.30.

Then I had to do for myself all the things Mrs RED_DOG usually does for me. NO, not that, I mean making beds, finding clean clothes etc

So, after a delayed start, I had a quick shower, no shave, (no one to tell me off) I started my 20ft journey from the bathroom to the living room, it was a lovely morning so I decided to walk. This journey turned out to be more difficult than you might think. I narrowly missed tripping over one of my daughters trainers and had to stop by the fridge to recover. This was a mistake. My wife, no doubt worrying that I would fade away during her absence, had stocked it with enough food to sustain a small village over a bank holiday, and because I dont like to eat on an empty stomach, I decided Id better have whatever you call the meal between breakfast and elevenses.

After my stew and malteasers, I continued on my way and had almost made my destination when the telly hove into view, I flicked it on. Half an hour later I knew how to worm a pig, but I was getting hungry again.

Finally I arrived. My laptop blinked at me excitedly, and within five minutes I was jamming pots with the best of them. Ive been playing multis for 12 hours straight and after a couple of early exits and a near miss, Ive managed to make a final table and I am the grand total of $420 to the good

Isnt life wonderful


June 21st 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=611.msg14319#msg14319)

It's A Funny Old Game (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=594.msg14029#msg14029)


My absolute favorite bad call excuse was at my old stomping ground Annabelles in coventry

I was deep into the competition. Well, I say deep, they only make three tables, four if the valet and the car park security man play, but everyone re buys like mad and so the last dozen or so players tend to have big stacks and the game can go on a bit

So, we finally get down to eleven, bubble time. I was comfortable, with average chips when, in middle position I find Ako in the box. I put in a healthy raise and get one caller, an old bloke with a long suffering face, and a set of those false teeth that try to continue the conversation after their owner has stopped speaking.

The flop came K94 rainbow, I raise and again he calls. Now Im wondering if hes hit a set or is slow playing aces or some other skulduggery, I know nothing about his game, Ive never seen him before and have just moved on to his table

The turn card is the A. Im not altogether sure Im ahead but decide, this is it. Im all in I say, pushing my chips to the centre of the table, Call he says, and beats me into the pot. He turns his cards face up, J4

Of course the river card is a 4 and Im on my way, but before I go I have to ask, How can you call me?  I just want to get home he says, through teeth moving out of sync, like a badly dubbed movie, And let me dog out before it craps in the kitchen


June 21st 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=594.msg14029#msg14029)

Cryptological Sponsered Official Blondepoker.com Tournament (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=607.msg15305#msg15305)


I love loud music, but only when I want it, I hate it when its forced upon me. Have you noticed, there are speakers in most toilets now so that you dont miss the latest offering while your having a crap

I have an outdoor type waistcoat with lots of pockets and my dad wanted one. So I told him I would get him one for his birthday

When I went into the store where I bought mine the music was so loud that the assistant couldnt hear what I was saying. On top of that, the waistcoat was 5 dearer than last time. I told them where they could stick their waistcoat, but they couldnt hear me. I stormed out

Once outside I thought, my dad really wants one of these waistcoats, Ill have to swallow my pride and go back in

When I got back inside there was no music. Wow I thought. A little complaining goes a long way. Ok I said, now that you have come to your senses, Ill take that waist coat No one moved or spoke to me, so I repeated myself but this time shouting and doing a decent impression of Basil Fawlty. Slowly one of the staff made his way over to me and whispered, Would you mind keeping your voice down sir, its armistice day, we are observing two minutes silence..


June 23th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=607.msg15305#msg15305)

Poker And The Mrs? (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=635.msg15137#msg15137)


Got to be honest here guys, Mrs RED-DOG and I will have been married 28 years come October the 1st. In all those years she has done nothing but encourage me, what ever hare brained scheme Ive come up with.

She is always supportive and makes me feel like I am the greatest guy on earth. We have had hard times, both emotionally and financially, but she has been my rock, my friend and my councillor. I dont know where she gets the strength.

Spending money doesnt interest her, I will pay 500 to enter a competition and at the same time she will walk across town to buy a tin of beans 1p cheaper

She is always happy and smiling and will go out of her way to help anyone. If I ever did anything right in this life, it was marrying her

In the words of an old sentimental song.

Lord give her my share of heaven

If Ive earned any here in this life

Because God, I believe she deserves it

My woman, my woman, my wife

Modesty aside, (easy for me)


June 23rd 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=635.msg15137#msg15137)

Profiles of Blondeites (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=1097.msg26341#msg26341)


The Sir Nigel Gresley, I spent endless hours watching an old man making a scale model of this train. When I wanted to escape the wife and kids for a little while, I would go and sit in his workshop next to a pot bellied stove, holding this, passing him that, and listening to him talk

When I say model, I mean he made a real steam train about one 8th the size of the original, every part crafted from the raw matal by hand. He estimated it would take him 5 years to finish it, his ambition was to complete it before he died

He did, It was beautiful, and he used it to pull childeren up and down a home made track

He told me that he would leave it to a museum, that he was relieved to have finished it, he said it was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders

The next I heard.........he had started work on the Mallard


August 5th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=1097.msg26341#msg26341)

A Chink Of Light (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=4128.0)


Yesterday I made a profit from playing poker, it was the first time in five weeks. Although my winnings only amounted to a few hundred dollars, I was relieved to make a breakthrough

Five weeks without a draw of any kind is a big deal for me considering the fact that I play for ten or so hours a day, which costs me roughly $2000 per week in buy ins. That’s a $10,000 hole in my bank roll, plus living expenses

If I were playing live games only I wouldn’t consider five weeks a long time to go without making a profit, but factor in online play and it starts to get scary. In that space of time I have played more than eighty MTT’s, thirty STT’s and made six live appearances. That’s a lot of poker!

It’s been really tough maintaining my focus, the “take a break and come back refreshed” method doesn’t suit me, if anything, when things are going badly I tend to play more

as time goes on though, you do tend to lose confidence in your game, so you try to change things, either by playing much tighter or looser than usual, this phenomenon, when you finally recognise it, is the dreaded tilt

Tilt isn’t constant, most of the time you play a great game and you lose because you got unlucky or went card dead or something. During my barren five weeks I lost a lot of games when I know I played well, but in the cold light of day I know I also lost a lot of games because I played really badly, just one or two decent cashes would have made so much difference, I have only myself to blame

Yesterday it snowed. Not a lot, just an inch or so, then it froze really hard and the wind got up. I went out for a walk and I was soon blue with cold. Normally I would be out working in these conditions, instead of sitting at home in front of the fire playing poker on my laptop, if I wanted to continue living the “easy” life, I had to make it happen. Poker doesn’t owe me a thing. It was a sobering thought, I went home and played a winning session

To be successful at poker you have to do more than play the game well, you have to learn about yourself. Learn to control your emotions and reactions. The less you let good or bad runs affect you, the better your game will be overall

When I was a young man my dad gave me a framed copy of Kiplings “IF” It seems to contain advice for every situation

“If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same”

I feel like Rudyard and the last five weeks may have taught me something useful


November 29th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=4128.0)

Hills Are Big In Cardiff (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=2890.0)


I was surprised and delighted to receive an invitation from Phil Quayle to go to Cardiff to watch one of the heats for the William Hill Grand Prix being filmed. I was really excited, not only were there some fantastic heats, but it was filmed in the same studios as the benchmark TV series, ‘Late Night Poker’ the spiritual home of TV poker

I arranged to travel down with Ralph, (karabiner) who had also been invited, it was impossible to decide which would be the best heat to watch, they were all so good, in the end we decided to go on Wednesday and just before noon Ralph arrived to pick me up. He was driving a beautiful red 3.2 litre Honda Coupe that belonged to his late father; it really was a great car, comfortable, powerful and whisper quiet, it swept us off towards the valleys

We had a good trip, for once the roads were clear, the weather good (except for a brief and unexpected squall), it only lasted two minutes but a lot of cars were forced to stop, so much water fell that it was impossible to see, it didn’t faze Ralph one bit, he just switched to navigating by sense of smell and we continued our journey. If you ever catch Ralph in a talkative mood, shut up and listen. He has lived a fascinating life and tells wonderful stories one after the other, he’s great company and wickedly funny. Before I knew it, we were there

Phil Quayle (may his braces never dangle) had put us up at the Hilton no less, and Ralph and I, pretending to be nonchalant while elbowing each other like schoolboys, strolled in, tossed the car keys to the valet and signed the register. To our amazement, we had not one, but two huge double rooms with massive en suite bathrooms and all the five star creature comforts. After a quick ‘power shower’ we made a phone call to Phil and a limo was despatched to take us to the venue, I was being looked after in the manner to which I have…n’t become accustomed

The TV studio was in an industrial unit on an estate, it looked the same as all the other units except there was one of those big outside broadcast vans in the car park, but as soon as you opened the door, you could tell it was TV land. For a start the doors were about two feet thick, (soundproof I guess) and there were no windows, busy looking people flitted about carrying cables, tripods, microphones, cameras and clipboards

We were greeted like long lost sons by Mr Quayle (may his pipes never empty) and shown into the ‘Green Room’ here, lounging, chatting, laughing and working were an eclectic mixture of the great and the good. World-class poker players, big hitters from William Hills, ‘A’ list writers, commentators, and possibly the best production team ever assembled

I tried very hard not to appear star struck, but it’s not easy when the likes of Jessie May, Andy Black, Vicky Coren or Ian Bradley come over to have a chat, It’s very strange when people that you are used to seeing on the telly bring you a coffee or ask you for your opinion

I must say a quick word about Jessie May, I always saw him as a bit too loud and a bit too American, if you know what I mean, well I’m unashamedly doing a 180, he is one of the nicest, funniest and most talented blokes it has ever been my pleasure to meet. He entertained us all day, slipping effortlessly in and out of commentator mode, running a book on the heat and constantly shouting out ever changing odds, committing bets to memory, cracking jokes and playing some kind of word game with Vicky Coren on a scrap of paper, all this while wearing a McEnrow style headband that made his hair stand completely vertical, and a pair of white Gucci shoes that were very pointed and at least six sizes too big

Someone had mentioned to Phil Quayle (may his loft be fungus free) that I am very interested in the ‘nuts and bolts’ side of TV, so he made sure I saw all the stuff the viewers don’t get to see, he took me on to the set and it was amazing, the TV table was in the middle of a room on a slightly raised platform, there was a backdrop that represented city lights and there was about forty five tons of cameras and lights suspended from the ceiling on scaffolding, when you see it on the screen it looks totally different, but fantastic

I was also allowed to sit in on a few interviews, first up was Lucy Rocach, she must be an interviewers dream, he asked a question, she gave an informative, witty, comprehensive answer, first time, every time. Next up was Phil, ‘The Unabomber’ Laak, in contrast to Lucy, his interview was, shall we say “different”

Phil Laak is positioned on sofa; interviewer (sorry, forgot his name, the bloke that accompanies Rhow everywhere) sits on a coffee table and faces him

Q, “How did you get your Nickname?”

A, “I just realised this today, when you play poker and the cameras can see your hole cards, that means that this image is filling the room in the form if electricity, now there is a theory that this information can be transmitted to others if they can tune in to the magnetic energy…. blather waffle jabber”

A full 10 minutes pass, he doesn’t stop to draw breath, no one understands a word of what he is saying, the interviewer’s smile is now a tortured mask, the onlookers are doing a fantastic job of stifling laughter, I am biting my tongue, on the verge of hysterics, The Unabomber goes on..

“Is the spoon really there, if it isn’t, why not become the spoon? The spoon knows all…. blather waffle jabber…..”

Another 10 minutes of complete nonsense, the interviewer now has stubble on his chin, his eyes have a haunted look, silently beseeching us to help him, I lean toward Phil Quayle (may his rash spread no further) and whisper “bloody hell, he only asked how he got his nickname” Mr Quayle loses control and dashes into a corridor, meanwhile, Bomber continues..

“It is possible, I believe, to make use of things we know nothing about, the spoon is the thing to be, who among us has the power to be the spoon…blather waffle jabber…”

By now, at least in my imagination, the long dead interviewer has become a skeleton, I have no idea how I am keeping a straight face, Ralph, sotto voice says “put the clock on him” For me this is the last straw, it totally cracks me up, I too dash into the corridor to find half a dozen people rolling about on the floor, silently crying with laughter.

How did the interview end, no idea, I dare not go back, and for all I know it may be still going on

When we had recovered from the Laak monologue enough to be able to walk upright, we were taken to see what goes on in the outside broadcast vehicle, loads of technical wizardry and stuff, huge multi screen monitors (we could see the players hole cards) computers with attendant geeks inputting data and displaying win percentages for the viewers, Lucy and Jessie adding commentary, I could have stayed all day but someone shouted “Lunch is served”

It was a close run thing, Antonio Esfandiari’s actress girlfriend was standing in the kitchen, plate in hand when the call came, so I had to step lively to be first in the queue

The caterers had provided a wonderful spread, three different main courses, a magnificent salad bar (if you like that sort of thing) and loads of chocolate covered, cream laden, mega calorie desserts, the American actress lady, who was behind me as I made my selections (everything) had obviously been forewarned by some wag about British cuisine because I overheard her asking “does that contain pigs blood? well what about this, does this have pigs blood in it?” I bumped into her again after the meal and asked her politely, “How did you like the pigs blood gravy?” she covered her mouth with her hand and left the room before I could tell her I was joking

The poker resumed after the lunch break and the game was really hotting up as the blinds started to bite, I won’t talk about the result, save to say that we all sat riveted to the monitor until the final hand, the exact time of which was predicted, to the second, by Ralph when we arrived. It was a terrific game, not surprising considering the quality of the players involved, I can’t wait to see it on telly so that I can see the hole cards, that will defiantly be an education

Several limo’s were summoned and we repaired to the Hilton en masse, on the way there we came to a roundabout that had a ‘modern art’ sculpture in the middle of it composed of dozens of different road signs, “Bloody hell” someone said, “I bet that confuses foreign drivers” Ralph, in his deadpan way replied, “I bet Phil Laak could understand it”

We congregated in one of several bars at the Hilton and Phil Quayle (may his sheets be absorbent) started a tab and told everyone to help themselves to anything they wanted, I expected such a genteel crowd to be a little shy so I took a step forward, inadvertently putting myself between the ugly mob and the alcohol, I was almost killed in the stampede. I’m not much of a drinker, but one or two others made up for my shortcomings and seemed determined to make some sort of dent in William Hill's expense account, Willie wasn’t at all bothered it seems, and to prove it he provided us with a sumptuous dinner

Someone suggested we round off the day by playing a £20 re buy, we were well fed and well lubricated, it sounded like a capital idea

We were loud, unruly and to the layman, must have looked somewhat threatening but we were provided with a waiter and deck of cards and ushered into a conference room complete with the biggest table I have ever seen, it was like a meeting of the United Nations, the only difference being we were talking more sense



What a line up!

We had, amongst others,

Jessie May, sporting his pineapple hair do and enormous white shoes

Victoria Coren, wearing a Britney Spears ‘Hit me baby one more time’ outfit

Karabiner

Jessie’s almost comatose mate Sam ‘

‘Smokin’ Steve Ladar

Mrs ‘Bad Girl’ Ladar

The guy who did the Phil Laak Interview, still looking a bit shell shocked

Ian ‘At It’ Bradley

Phil Quayle (may his loins be ever fruitful)

Me

‘At it’ nominated himself as tournament director, dealer and bouncer, he announced loudly (He does everything loudly) “Ok guys, one re buy, one top up, lets go” and we were off

The game had a surreal, dream like quality, for one thing the proceedings were being filmed, and the sound and camera men were running around and around the huge table to zoom in on the players hole cards and record the verbal's, the players themselves seemed to do and say the same things every hand, it went something like this

Me “Check”

Jessie “Is there a jack on the flop?” (He said this even when there was no flop, but we cut him some slack because he was the worse for drink and anyway the flop was at least 15 yards away from him) “Ok, I call” at this point someone always asked him to explain how the dealer button (a milk jug) worked, and every single time he would drop effortlessly into commentator mode, a la Late Night Poker and recite the familiar formula, then he would lean towards me, show me the two ‘wrong end’ blank corners of his cards and announce “I always look at my cards like this, Hell, I could have anything!”

Vicky Coren would either pass or lean right out across the table to see the flop, treating ‘At It’ to the full frontal view and me to the rear view, twice this ploy caused us to bet into her monster hand

‘Smokin’ Steve would raise

‘At It’ would do the worst acting job ever seen before re raising or passing

‘Bad Girl’ would ask, “Did he ra?” “I go or in!”

Comatose Sam would wake up and say “Bring me another drink, I call”

And so it went on, until Comatose Sam knocked me out at about 3am. Never have I enjoyed losing my money so much, it was a pleasure and a privilege, a magical end to an unbelievable day

Are William Hills serious about poker? Yes, I think they are!


October 24th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=2890.0)

Odd Socks? So You Think You've Got Problems? (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=2337.0)


I used to buy damaged and broken Land rover gearboxes and sell them on to a reconditioning firm. You could buy them at a considerable discount if you were prepared to remove them yourself, so I spent quite a lot of time in scrap yards or on farms, lying under Land rovers covered in grease and old sump oil

Removing a Land rover gearbox is a horrible job, especially when you have to do it outdoors in the winter, working with no ramp and as often as not, having to lie in a puddle or a patch of nettles. The underside of a Land rover is always coated with many years worth of mud and cow shit and once you have chipped your way through this you expose hundreds of rusted nuts and bolts, all put in places designed to make it near impossible to get a spanner on them, you have to be a cross between Einstein and Quasimodo, when you did get the spanner on, it would slip off again when under full pressure, My hands looked like they belonged to a kamikaze mousetrap tester

One particular day I was removing a gearbox but Olaf the Uncomfortable, the spirit that inhabits all Land rovers, just didn’t want me to have it, the vehicle had no wheels, so I had to jack it up to get underneath and major accident damage had wrapped the chassis around the gearbox like a greedy child’s hand around the one toffee he can’t cram into his mouth

The rain was coming down in sheets and little rivulets ran down my collar, along my back and out through my trouser leg as I lay on my back beneath the Land rover, I was cold, wet and miserable, my hands were bleeding and I had bumped my head so many times it looked like a shillelagh, when suddenly I started to feel little jabs of sharp pain all over my body, especially the nether regions, I lifted my shirt and saw to my horror that I was covered with ants

Within 0.5 of a second, I was running around the scrap yard doing a fantastic impression of Michael Flatly’s river dance and flinging my clothes in all directions, I didn’t stop until I was completely naked and had slapped every ant from my body

Sanity returned, and with it the realisation that perhaps I might look a bit silly, standing in the middle of a muddy scrap yard in the rain, without a stitch on, covered in oil, and sporting cuts, bruises and hundreds of rapidly swelling red spots, I looked around anxiously and was relieved to find I had the place to myself, then I noticed the grim, world weary face of an old security guard peering at me from the grubby window of a wooden hut, he showed no emotion, save for slowly shaking his head from side to side

Quickly I started to gather my clothes. Disaster! During my panic driven striptease I had flung my trousers into a large galvanised container obviously used as a receptacle for old sump oil and as I stared at them aghast they slipped beneath the surface of the black glutinous mess

What could I do? I fished my trousers out and after squeezing as much oil from them as possible I put them on. Fortunately I had almost finished removing the gearbox and was soon ready to go

On the way home I stopped to buy some cigarettes, and I happened to notice a posh little gentlemen’s outfitters with a ‘Sale now on’ sign in the window, I didn’t fancy the 60 mile drive home in oil sodden trousers, so I popped inside

The sales assistant, a ‘Mr Humphreys type character, listened with wide eyes and open mouth as I recounted my tale of woe and asked him for a pair of his cheapest trousers, 34 waist. “We have these, £5.99” he said, wrinkling his nose and guiding me away from the merchandise to a sheet of newspaper that he had placed in the middle of the floor, and he offered me a pair of white, yes white corduroys.
“Can I put them on now?” I asked, he agreed but refused to let me use the changing room and instead stood by the window holding his coat open as a screen
“Do you have any scissors?” I enquired, noticing that the trouser legs extended past my feet and several yards along the carpet, he loaned me his scissors and I cut off the trouser legs

I observed my handiwork in a long mirror, Mr Humphreys looked on from behind, the white trousers were now a sea of black fingerprints and while one leg was still a little long, the other terminated just below my knee. I hummed and ahhed, did a couple of twirls, sighed and hands on hips declared, “Naaa, I don’t think I’ll Bother”


October 8th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=2337.0)

I've Got The Blues (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=2285.0)


I play poker online for many hours most days, it can be a grind but this forum keeps me sane, its somewhere to go and have a chat with my mates, it informs me and entertains me

Blonde is growing at a phenomenal rate, but that growth comes at a price, no longer are we the close knit little hamlet we once were, we are becoming a city

Cities have many advantages, they have a great diversity of inhabitants with many and varied talents, they can provide access to more facilities and the powers that be have to take more notice when the people of a city unite for a common cause

The downside is, cities need more policing, especially if we want to maintain the same values we enjoyed when we were a sleepy hamlet

We all see tikay as the founder member of  Blondepoker, I know it is a collaboration between him and Dave El Blondie Colclough, but tikay was the public face, the citizens advice, the press agent, the diplomat and the local bobby, but as the forum has grown bigger, superstardom has tapped him on the shoulder and the time he has available has grown shorter, the upshot was, he asked a few of us to become moderators

I am now a moderator; I have some fancy blue stars and a posh title

I am willing to do whatever I can to help out but I have to confess, I don’t like it, this has been the first day on blonde that I haven’t enjoyed

Being a moderator hasn’t improved my IQ, I am no taller, stronger, holier or wiser than I was before, I just feel a greater responsibility to try to do the right thing, although most of the time I know that will be impossible, as don’t know what the right thing is, it’s a case of dammed if you do, and dammed if you don’t

What I’m really trying to say is, when the moderators get it wrong, please try to cut us some slack, if we do the wrong thing, it is for the right reasons

I owe Blonde and it’s members a debt of gratitude, you have been there for me when I needed someone and I wouldn’t upset any one of you for all the blue stars and fancy titles in the world


October 6th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=2285.0)

Notts Faces (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=1444.0)


I went to Notts gala last night, for the £300. It?s a nice distance for me, takes about 45 minutes, which is just about right for me to get into the right frame of mind, If I travel on my own I usually play music very loud and arrive filled with emotion dictated by my choice of entertainment, last night it was The Offspring, (recently discovered while testing daughters ipod) played at about 1000 decibels, by the time I got there I was so pumped up I felt like I could bite a tiger. The trip was only slightly marred by the hundreds of speed cameras that line the route, not that I'm a speed freak, its just that the bloody things don?t play fair, they are designed to get you, I?ve been flashed twice in the last fortnight, once coming home from Birmingham, 2:30 am, not a soul in sight, doing 34 in a 30 zone, and once coming back from Luton, on a dual carriageway, I knew the cameras were there, the speed limit was 40, 40, 40, 30, (for about ten yards) 40, 40,??. guess which bit got me.

Right, back to Notts, I wont talk about the poker, (I didn?t play a very prominent part in the proceedings) except to say that I thought it was a great event, well organised, well run, and played in a great spirit. I don?t get to Notts often enough, I always enjoy it. I even enjoy the things that should annoy me, Example

Valet, (Margaret?) ?Would you like a drink sir??

Me, ?yes, Coke please?

V, ?Water??

Me, ?no, Coke?

V, ?Water??

Me, ?No thank you, I?d like a Coke?

V, ?We don?t have any Coke?

Me, ?Ok, I?ll have orange?

V, ?Water??

Me, ?Yes, I?ll have a glass of water please?

V,? We have tea??..

Then During the 30-minute break

Me, ?Where?s the buffet??

?There is no Buffet?

Me, ?Ok, where can I eat??

?Go and ask in the bar?

Me, to barman, ?Can I get something to eat??

Barman, ?you have to go into the restaurant?

Me, to waitress in restaurant, ?Can I order please? I only have 30 minutes?

Waitress, ?It will take 45 minutes?

Me, ?I can?t wait that long, what shall I do??

Waitress, ?Ask the valet in the card room to bring you something?

Me, to valet in card room ? Can you get me something to eat??

Valet, ?It will take 45 minutes?

Me, ?that?s Ok?

Valet, ?What would you like??

Me, ?Can I see a menu??

Valet, ?You want a menu??

Me, ?Well, just tell me what you?ve got?

Valet, ?I?ll get you a menu?

Me, after reading menu and finding valet again, ?I?ll have the steak wrap and chips?

Valet, ?That will be £7?

Me, paying, ?Thank you?

Valet, ?What?s your membership number??

Me, ?I don?t know?

Valet, ?Sorry, I can?t serve you?

Enter Mr Costa, don?t know which one, but he looked pretty young and charismatic to me, ?He can use my membership number?

Valet, ?Ok, just this once?

Me, ?Thank you?

Valet, ?would you like a drink with that sir??

Me, ?Yes please, I?ll have a Co?. No Thanks?

It was really great to meet some of the ever-growing army of blondites; It?s strange to meet old friends for the first time.

Among other notables were

Karrabiner, Who I would have never recognised In 1000 years if I had to rely on tikay?s description, contrary to vicious rumours he is young, suave and very intelligent and well spoken

Bookiebasher, I have been on his table several times before at various venues but I didn?t know he was him, I had his card marked as a good solid player, I have now added ?Nice bloke?

M Power, Typical BMW dealer, laid back, bright, confident, too much money

Malc M, On the scrounge as usual

Julian, Wearing his smiling, chatting, innocent, butter wouldn?t melt disguise, when all the while he?s thinking ? what are you plebs doing here? You know I?m going to win it ?

Junior, (I?m still trying to find something disagreeable about him)

Tikay, Who is obviously on drugs, the man doesn?t sleep, and he rambles on about trains, cats, and rock concerts

Redsimon, Yes, it?s true, he?s a troublemaker and a delinquent

Nick, Reminds me of me 5 years ago

Rob Yong, Young, handsome, talented, wealthy, (bas**rd)

Unknown blondite, don?t know his real name, but he was a dead ringer for Chesney Hawkes

And loads of others

Oh, I did meet Chili Pepper, and I can confirm, he is definitely a man

I busted out early and took a leisurely drive home, everyone was sleeping, including my married daughters and my grand children, who are visiting, they looked like angels, I sat alone in the dark and a great wave of contentment washed over me, I have my problems just like everyone else, but I am surrounded by a loving family and wonderful friends, I?m a very happy man


August 29th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=1444.0)

That Reminds Me (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=1472.0)


I swear this is true

The ?Great laydowns? thread reminded me of it

A good friend of mine who, for reasons that will become obvious, must remain nameless, is a fantastic gambler, he will bet on absolutly anything, I have seen him race against a horse and an Escort van (on foot) he has had beard growing contests, pie eating competitions, weight loss, staying awake, fart lighting, greasy pig catching, you name it, he has bet on it. I don't mean a few quid, I mean thousands.

Once though, he met his match, he couldn't beat this guy, they played pool, he lost, they threw coins up to a line, he lost, backgammon, lost, connect 4, lost.

Right, he said to me, time for the secret weapon, I had no Idea what he had in mind, I thought I had seen all his tricks

"Ok" he says to this guy, "I bet you £1000 that I have a smaller co*k than you" (This was in a pub with dozens of onlookers) Quick as a flash, the guy replies, "Your'e on"

Off we all troop to the gents toilet, the landlord thought we had gone mad, about 40 people squeezed into the bogs, and several others were standing on beer barrels outside trying to look through the windows

A small space was organised  in the middle of the room, mainly by shoving people into cubicles and urinals, and the two protaganists faced each other, and amid gasps and oooh's form the audiance, my friend dropped his pants and exposed the tiniest appendage imaginable

It was almost invisible to the naked eye, like a miniature button mushroom that had been left out in the sun, the other guy looked at it for a moment and then proclamed, "You've lost"

And he had, the proof was produced

The look on my friends face was an absolute picture, people were screaming with laughter, some wanted to take photographs

To this day it is still refered to as 'The contest you don't want to win'


August 30th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=1472.0)

Red's Roots (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=1498.0)


I was surprised to learn that Tony likes the Fairground boxer and hard men stories, I am a Romany Gypsy (yes, I still live in a caravan) and I know a lot of these guys in person

Because I am a Gypsy I have met with a lot of prejudice in my life, mainly because people are suspicious of what they don't understand, I decided that the best way to combat this was let people ask me about the Gypsy way of life and answer as best I can, I give talks to police forces all over the country and in reality all I do is let them ask me questions, so if anyone wants to know something, please ask

Mrs Red and I were invited to the Queens garden party a little while ago, the group that I work with won the Queens Jubilee award for services to the community, I think we were the first Gypsies ever to walk through those gates, I was very proud

Life is very difficult for Gypsies at the moment, the Sun newspaper is running a hate campaign and there are a lot of people who are not really Gypsies who have taken to caravans, some of these groups cause a lot of trouble and we have to carry the can. This is not to say that we are all angels, we have bad people amongst us just like any other community

I haven't mentioned this before because I wanted you to know me as a person first and a Gypsy second

I am very proud of my heritage and my ancestry, my forbears have been imprisoned, transported, and even executed for the crime of being a Gypsy; it is a testimony to their courage and love that I am here at all


September 1st 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=1498.0)

RED-DOG On Shootouts... (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=1253.0)


Its funny you should say that, I'm not connected to the main sewer, all my toilet waste goes into a septic tank.

It works like this, a large fibreglass container, shaped like a decanter and capable of holding 2000 gallons or so is buried beneath the ground and all toilet waste, liquid and solid, is piped into it. The solids sink to the bottom, and the liquid runs off through underground filters, this system works without maintenance until after about two years, the solid waste reaches the top of the tank, you know when this has occurred because suddenly, things start to get very smelly, I found myself in this situation last week

The remedy is simple, just pick up the phone and call Peggy Shitter, AKA Lang Wet Waste. I dont know who christened him Peggy Shitter, but that was the name given to me to me by a friend who scribbled a telephone number on a scrap of paper, the first time I called him I said to the lady who answered the phone, "Hello, is Mr Shitter there?"

By now we were old hands at tank emptying, this would be out third visit from Albert, as we now know him, (although he does answer to Peggy) and we waited patiently, noses wrinkled, for the sound of his tanker coming down the lane, bang on time as always, he arrived

Peggys vehicle is built on the same lines as a milk or petrol tanker, but there the similarity ends, the huge tank is festooned with valves and pipes, I think it was blue once, but any remaining paintwork is now invisible under many years worth of indescribable filth.

Albert himself is also covered in many years worth of filth, he must be immune to every disease known to man, Mrs Red makes him a cup of tea (she always smashes the cup afterwards) and he sits on the step, opens his sandwiches, and eats them with unwashed hands that are covered with brown stains, although he does stop to shake off the odd bit of used toilet paper

Breakfast over, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, passes the cup back to Mrs Red, (who holds it at arms length like an unexploded bomb) walks over to the septic tank and lifts the lid. I dont know why, but all the family, including me, have a morbid fascination with the contents of that tank, and my daughters, Mrs Red and I all stood around in a semi circle, craning our necks and trying to look inside, at once both mesmerised and horrified. Meanwhile Peggy strolls back to his truck and begins to unroll a long flexible hose, like a firemans hose but thicker and semi rigid, connects one end to a big valve on his truck and then works the other end deep into the shyou know what, then he starts his engine, opens the valve, and the hose starts to empty the tank like a kid with a straw emptys chocolate milk shake

All was going according to plan, and as we cast furtive glances into the tank, Peggy regaled us with tales of days gone by, when this job was done by brave men who actually climbed into the tank and shovelled the stuff out, night soil they called it, and it was transported by horse and cart to local fields where it was spread on the crops

Suddenly Peggys history lesson was interrupted when the note of the engine changed, and the hose started to squirm about like a constipated snake, Blockage cried Peggy, and he quickly turned the big valve to the off position. What now? I asked, intrigued by this new turn of events, Ill soon sort it Peggy replied, and with that he pulled the hose from the heaving brown mass and holding it about an inch from his face, peered into it. Cant see anything he told me, Ill have to get my rootler His rootler turned out to be a long stainless steel rod with a sort of corkscrew attachment on one end, and he pushed it carefully into the hose, probing gently. About four feet in, the rootler came into contact with something solid, Aha exclaimed Peggy, there it is. Peggy spent the next twenty minutes poking, teasing, ramming and swearing at the blockage, but it wouldnt budge, Right he cried, flinging the end of the hose back in to the tank and squaring his scrawny shoulders, Well blow the bugger out he moved a lever on the back of the truck, and when he opened the valve again it was set to blow instead of suck

With hindsight, this was the point in the proceedings when the family McCready should have left Mr Shitter to do his job in peace, but it was far to interesting for that and, hands holding noses and eyes narrowed to slits, we shuffled ever closed to the action. The hose had now become a live thing, it rumbled and hissed and as the pressure inside it built up it writhed and arched its back as though in great pain. Hmm mused Peggy, thoughtfully stroking his chin with his germ-laden fingers, This is a toughie, Ill just rev her up a bit with that he went back to the truck and opened the throttle

What happened next will be imprinted in my mind in glorious, frame-by-frame, graphic Technicolor detail forever. The hose seemed to swell to twice its size and instead of lying on the ground, it rose up in a series of arches like the Loch Ness monster, then, with a bang like a cannon going off, the blockage came free and shot out into the septic tank with the force of a small meteorite, followed by about 90,000 pounds of evil smelling compressed air. you can imagine, the resulting splash back was spectacular, I wasnt around when Vesuvius blew her top, but I now have a good idea what it looked like. Everyone was liberally coated with two years worth of night soil and soggy bog paper, we looked like we had been tarred and feathered

Mrs Red was the first to laugh, but soon we were all rolling about on the floor, even Peggy Shitter had to smile. The cause of the blockage turned out to be a cricket ball, how that got in there we will never know, Ive eaten some strange things in my time, but I draw the line at sports equipment

So that was the biggest crapshoot Im ever likely to see, and my advice is,
RUN AWAY!!


August 12th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=1253.0)

How Tight Were Our Parents? (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=3037.15)


We were so poor our dog had no legs

During the winter we all used to sit around a candle, if it was really cold we used to light  it

We couldn't afford shoes, my mam used to black our feet and lace our toes up

We didn't have a porshe, our front door was right on the street


October 28th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=3037.15)

O/T: If You Could... (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=3721.30)


This is the first of my five, I’m doing them one at a time, it’s too much thinking to do them all at once

I may not be able to stop at five, and there is no order of merit


My little Granddad

My dad’s parents were both quite petite, so we kids we called them our little Granny and Granddad. My mam’s parents were our big Granny and Granddad

My little Granddad ‘Sam’ was one of the most selfless men I have ever known. He never had much money, he didn’t drive, he hardly ever spoke and he was totally illiterate, my Granny used to say, “He can’t tell an A from a bulls foot” but he taught us so many things.

He seemed to thrive on hard work, he was always busy, but he always had time for us. A brilliant carpenter, he would spend hours making us wooden toys or kennels for our dogs, he taught me to make wooden flowers and clothes pegs (Before you can make pegs you have to make a special ‘peg knife’) so he taught me that too

On Sundays he would take us boys for a walk in the countryside, a real walk, 15 miles or so, we used to take a packed lunch. He would always be pointing out things that we didn’t see, bird nests, squirrels, tadpoles etc. Sometimes we would come upon a lake or a river, Granddad would produce some line, make some rods and we would spend the day fishing

The only time I ever saw him inactive was when there was wrestling or a cowboy film on the telly, then he would sit in his caravan, riveted to a tiny black and white portable TV with a 10 inch screen, this was powered by a slim cable connected to a battery outside. God help you if you ran past and “Pulled his wires off” Eventually he bought a portable colour telly. A rare thing in those days and his only extravagance

He died just after I got married. as is often the way I only realised how much I loved him after he had gone, I never told him

He left me his pocket watch, some woodworking tools, a million memories, and his colour telly



This is him on the frontboard of his waggon, the child is my father

(http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?action=dlattach;topic=3721.0;attach=2174;image)


Dec 1st 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=3721.30)

Here's A Debate That Will Upset The Girlies... (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=4010.15)


Well this is how I see it, I know a lot of you will consider my views chauvinistic

Men and women are eaqual

Men and women, while being EQUAL, are not the SAME, a lot of people confuse the two

as an example, women firefighters, it means there has to be seperate sleeping quarters, toilet/bathroom facilities and the men have to curb their language and modify their conversation. Plus if I were unconcious in a burning building I would want a 16 stone bloke to carry me to safety

The same applies to frontline soldiers. By their very nature women will defend their own to the death, but they are not pre disposed to attacking

I think women are much better communicators, negotiators, teachers, listeners, speakers, and carers than men could ever be, all heads of state should be female

I like men to be masculine and women to be feminine.

I love opening doors, buying flowers, paying for dinner and pretending to be brave and strong, I want to be the man of the house, and I want her permission to say so

I want a woman that has the good grace to pander to my testosterone fueled ego, even though when the chips are down she is probably braver and stronger than me

I don't care why women say and do unfathomable things, it's all part of their fascination

I lift the toilet seat and I put it down again, no questions asked


November 26th 2005 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=4010.15)

Fools rush in (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=7889.0)


The human mind is designed to try to make sense of any situation, to interpret the information available by comparing it to previous knowledge and experience, to rationalise.

This is a great system, and it works well for most of the time.  However, these very facts make us all susceptible to deception


I have always had a keen interest in confidence tricksters, I’ve read a lot on the subject, and have been amazed at the outrageous stories people will swallow

Confidence tricksters have sold the Eiffel Tower for scrap

Pushed ATM machines laden with cash out of banks in broad daylight, assisted by bank staff

Spent their entire working lives occupying positions as senior consultants in hospitals without a shred of medical knowledge

Virginia Woolf and a group of friends once disguised themselves as the Emperor of Abyssinia and his entourage, they had no appointment and the only language they spoke was “Bunga bubnga” i.e., gobbledegook made up on the spot, they were given a full VIP tour of the British warship, the H.M.S. Dreadnought, and the British navy received them in full colours, pandering to their every whim

The more bizarre the situation, the more inclined we are to accept it, because we don’t have a better explanation. Once the bait is swallowed, we just go on believing, no matter how incredible the story becomes


You may be wondering where all this is leading, the truth is, I have made a monumental balls up and I am just trying to save a little face

When Brian Wilson joined the forum several months ago, someone made a reference to the Beach Boys, tikay told us of Brian’s friendship with El Blondie and other notables, we heard stories of his newly found interest in poker and of his exploits in big games in exotic locations

I thought it was “THE” Brian Wilson

Once I had accepted this fact, nothing ever made me question it; on the contrary I chose to focus on the things that seemed to confirm it

He’s very individual and probably slightly mad

He’s American

He lives on the coast

He seems to have independent means

He seems comfortable among the rich and famous

I even congratulated him once for his charity work, and he thanked me



Now comes the squirmy part

Don't forget, we had just spent several days in Brian's company

Mat Tyler and I, (b4matt) Were sitting in the departure lounge of Vienna airport discussing Brian’s game, and I said it was easy for him to enter so many big buy-in tournaments when he had all those royalties coming in

Matt became totally silent and motionless for a moment, then he gave me a “Is this a wind up” type look and said “What the f*** are you talking about”

The conversation that followed was one of the funniest, and most embarrassing of my life, Matt, convinced by my total sincerity, wondering if it really was "THE" Brian Wilson, and me, finally beginning to entertain the possibility that it was not

It went something like this

Matt: It’s not that Brian Wilson……is it?

Me: Of course it is……isn’t it?

In unison:  AAARRRRGGHHH!!!

Matt: It can’t be!

Me: It must be!

This time holding each other’s shoulders, faces inches apart: AAARRRGGHHH!!!

Matt: you do realise that one of us is going to come out of this looking like a complete numpty?

Me: not really, if I’m wrong I’ll just say I was winding you up

Matt: You wouldn’t

Me, with a sigh: No, I wouldn’t, one of us must suffer


We spent the entire flight from Vienna to Amsterdam laughing, screaming at the thought if the impending embarrassment, and trying to work out the truth

Matt put forward the very good argument that our Brian was no where near old enough to be “THE” Brian, I countered with arguments about millionaires, plastic surgery, and the fact that he wouldn’t need to be that old anyway

At one point, Matt was convinced that I was right, and I was convinced that he was right, we even told each other that whatever the outcome, no one need ever know, but we both knew that was untrue


When we arrived in Amsterdam airport we abandoned all thoughts of baggage and connecting flights, and made our way to an Internet café. Like two condemned men, we opened Google and solemnly typed in, “Image, Beach Boys, Brian Wilson”

We held our breath for a moment, then suddenly the screen was filled by a recent picture of “THE” Brian Wilson, of course, he was absolutely nothing like the Brian we know and love

To his great credit, Mat said nothing, in total silence he stood up, and walked off to do some last minute shopping, I was grateful that he had left my burning cheeks and me in peace, but I did notice, as he walked away, he was staggering slightly, and his shoulders were shaking


March 10th 2006 (http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=7889.0)

A Tribute To Siddy


Friday. Day five of the festival at Blackpool, the day of the £300 Omaha freeze-out and my 'Day off.' Despite the fact that I had played four events so far without even a sniff of a final table, I wasn’t too disappointed, I felt I was playing well and I was in great spirits, looking forward to re charging my batteries in preparation for Saturdays main event by spending a leisurely day in the company of Mrs Red. We would stroll along the beach in the sunshine, have lunch somewhere in town, then browse around the shops before heading back to the hotel for an early night.

It was about an hour after lunch, and I was sitting on a bench in the middle of Blackpool reading the book that I had brought, knowing from long experience that I would need it to pass the time while Mrs Red scoured the contents of the charity shop that she would inevitably find, when the most extraordinary thing happened. A figure from my distant past sat down on the bench beside me. He didn’t recognise me, but the sight of him instantly transported me back to my childhood, to half forgotten memories of myself as a grubby urchin running around the woods behind the golf course at High Hazels Park in Sheffield. The area is off limits to small boys today, having been converted into an airport, but in the late 60s, it was a wild and beautiful place.

Some people on this forum have described Derbyshire as 'God’s own country'. Well I can’t really disagree with that, it is something special, and the scenery can be stunning, but if Derbyshire is where God lives, Yorkshire is where he takes his holidays. When God made Derbyshire he was just performing his usual, workaday miracles of creation, when he made Yorkshire, he was showing off.

This being the case, it’s only fitting that Yorkshire should be inhabited by a breed of people like no other anywhere on earth. Tough, dour, plain speaking, no nonsense people, they are hard to intimidate, and even harder to impress. They remain doggedly resistant to the ever changing lifestyles of the rest of the country’s populace, but they are quick to accept outsiders, provided they mind their manners, and despite an apparently gruff demeanour, they are always ready to laugh, their dry, scathing humour is never absent for long, and when you’re the butt of the joke, you know you are among friends.

I first met Siddy when I was about 10 years old. Siddy isn’t his real name by the way, I christened him that because of his habit of constantly starting conversations with the Yorkshire man’s version of the words “Look here” which are “See thee” or in his case, “Si di.”

It was the early autumn of 1968. I was walking in the woods with my dog, an Alsatian cross called Kim. I remember that the weather was still mild, and although the leaves had turned more shades of brown, red, yellow and gold than you can imagine or I can describe, they were, for the most part, still on the trees. I don’t know if I appreciated the breathtaking beauty back then, but in my mind's eye, the colours remain vivid.

One of the joys of walking with a dog, if you are tuned in to them, is the fact that you can make use of their heightened senses. Dogs give out a great deal of information via facial expressions and body language, but most of these signs are so subtle and fleeting that they are easily missed unless you are really looking. I always train my dogs to walk to heel slightly further forward of me than is considered ideal, but this means I can observe them all the time.

As I came upon a point where two woodland paths crossed, I noticed a slight change in Kim’s demeanour, his expression went from tongue-lolling indifference to ears forward attentiveness, he made no sound, but glanced up at me to check that I had seen his 'Someone’s coming' signal. I stepped off the path and into the undergrowth, and with Kim beside me I peeped out at the crossroads through the withered leaves of a beech sapling. To my utter astonishment, a giant walked past right in front of me. A huge, blonde haired man with a Bedlington x Whippet at his heels. Over one enormous shoulder was a strap fashioned from a car seat belt and attached to a wooden box, over the other shoulder a short spade. I knew immediately what the box contained, this particular giant was going ferreting.

I was mesmerised, driven by my little boy’s fascination and curiosity for all things strange and new. I wanted to approach this monster of a man, to see up close what a giant looked like, to find out how someone so huge could move so quietly, to engage him in conversation. Perhaps I could even get a peek inside that ferret box, and a have a chance to examine the terrier, but my little boy’s imagination held me back, I knew all about bean-stalks and how giant’s made their bread.

I resolved to follow him without revealing my presence. I was quite good at this sort of thing, having spent countless hours creeping up on unsuspecting wildlife with my catapult. When the giant was 100 or so yards in front of me, I started to move. Dogs read our body language much better than we read theirs, and Kim fell unbidden into stalking mode beside me. Making sure there was always some cover to shield me should the giant glance in my direction, and staying downwind of the Whippet, I trailed him to his destination, a sandy embankment at the far edge of the wood.

I congratulated myself on my stalking skills, and settled down below the rim of a cone-shaped hollow that I now know to be an old bomb crater, one of the many that were peppered around the woods, and I reached into my pocket for my 'binoculars'. These were in fact old-fashioned opera glasses, the kind that fold flat into a little case. They really belonged to my granny, she called them her 'Oppin glasses' and I had them on permanent loan. As I peered through the cloudy lens that did more to hinder my view than enhance it, I saw the giant toss the spade to one side, he then set the ferret box down and sat on it. Suddenly, and still with his back to me, he shouted, “Si di! Are da gonna lay in yon ole all day, or are da gonna gi me a hand?"

I stood up somewhat sheepishly and approached the giant with caution. Thankfully, he did not turn to face me, he just carried on talking in a soft, pleasant voice. “Si di young un, tha can elp me to peg t’ nets out if tha wants. That’s a grand dog tha’s got there, I bet he’s a middlin ‘unter.”  Perhaps he was used to people being scared of him, he seemed to know that I would feel safer with him looking the other way. I began to relax, soothed by the familiar Yorkshire accent, and pleased that he had praised my dog. You don’t often get praise from a Yorkshire man, and ‘middlin’ was praise indeed.

As Kim and I got closer, the whippet came to meet us, and the two dogs went in to that slow, stiff legged, circling, sniffing ritual that is so important in canine society. Nature didn’t design dogs to fight every time they meet an unfamiliar member of their own species; the fact that it happens so often is because of misunderstandings caused by the dog’s owner. Imagine this scenario. You are a small puppy; you live in a big, safe, warm place with the other members of your owner’s family, your ‘pack.’ One day, the pack leader takes you out for a walk, all is going well until you meet Mrs Smith and her dog coming in the other direction, you rush forward to greet them. Suddenly your leader becomes agitated and calls you back to him; there is a note of concern in his voice. He scoops you up and holds you tightly, everything about his demeanour says ‘Danger, this is a threat’ you growl a little, you’re scared now, but instinct tells you to protect your pack leader. This impression is re-enforced on subsequent walks, and before you know it, every dog is a threat and must be attacked on sight. You, like so many other good-natured dogs with well meaning owners, have become an incurable fighter.

Socialise your dogs when they are young; it’s easy, just let nature take its course.     

After an exciting couple of hours spent setting t’ nets, bolting rabbits, and digging out when the big hob polecat line ferret came back to the surface “Wi his mittens on” (fur attached to his paws indicating that he had killed a rabbit below ground), we set to on the important job of dressing (gutting) our haul to preserve its value. Rabbits spoil quickly if they’re not dressed. ‘Scoontin’ was the local terminology for this practice, which spawned the joke, “Do you want it scoontin?” “Aye, go on, it’ll do for t’ cat.” Later that day we walked into Darnall where we sold our booty to a local butcher for half a crown per rabbit. Ferreted rabbits were more valuable than ones that had been shot, the latter contain bits of lead, which break your customers' teeth, for some reason, they find this annoying. To my absolute amazement, I received five shillings as my share of the proceeds; I’d had a fantastic time and didn’t expect anything.

Siddy and I became great friends. I was a small, extremely skinny 10 year old, often with a dirty face and always with a snotty nose. He was about 25, 6ft 5in tall, with blonde curly hair and comic book hero good looks. Although he must have weighed about 18 stone, there was not an ounce of fat on him, his arms, legs and shoulders were massive, and when he moved the muscles bulged beneath his skin, like potatoes squeezed into a sack.

We were an unlikely couple, but we had a lot in common. I loved the outdoors, and he was one of the best outdoorsmen I ever knew. He took me everywhere, hunting, fishing, walking, and scavenging for golf balls, he taught me how to handle his four ten shotgun safely, how to fire it and how to clean it. I asked him endless questions, and he always took the time to answer, I must have driven him mad sometimes, but he was a gentle giant, with infinite patience.

Siddy was a sort of unofficial caretaker cum groundsman at the golf course, I don’t think it paid very much, but he was allowed to live in one small room in the big wooden club house, I suppose this also made him an unpaid night watchman. He supplemented his earnings by doing a bit of caddying, and he sold the second hand golf balls that he had trained the whippet to find. He also did odd jobs for anyone willing to give him a fair day's pay for a good day's work. If this involved digging, he was better value than a JCB; I have never seen anyone capable of moving so much earth. The only problem was, he could snap a shovel as easily as you would a toothpick, one of his regular employers got someone who worked in the machine shop at the pit to make him an unbreakable one with a tubular steel shaft, I could hardly lift it, but in Siddy’s massive hands, it looked like a toy.

Our ‘stopping place,’ about half a mile from Siddy’s clubhouse, was a clearing at the end of a very long lane in the lee of the wood. It was a traditional winter camp for my family and many others (For those of you who don’t know, I am a Romany Gypsy). It was even sanctioned by the local council, who provided hard standing for the caravans and delivered water to us in a bowser.

One night, at about 8pm, I saw through the caravan window, a red glow in the distance. I stepped outside and walked a little way towards it, on the still night air I could plainly hear raised voices, they were coming from the direction of the clubhouse. I suppose I should have told my dad, but it looked like something exciting was happening and I was afraid of being confined to barracks; I set of through the woods at a run.

I arrived at the clubhouse to find it in flames. Great orange tongues licked at the sides and caused the peeling white paint to bubble and blister. The windows were broken, and the door stood open. Firemen sprayed water in through the openings, and thick black smoke poured out.  No sooner had the thought ‘Oh my God, where’s Siddy?’ entered my head, than he came tearing into view. He was in the habit of  ‘nippin ter t’ local’ for a swift half after work, and had obviously seen the blaze while on his way home. He grabbed one of the firemen by the arm, almost lifting him into the air as he spoke... “Ave yer got me dog aht?” he shouted. The fireman answered his question with a blank stare. With that, Siddy pulled his coat up over his head and marched toward the open door. When they realised what he was doing, one or two people tried to restrain him, but they were cast aside as if they had no more substance than rag dolls. A moment later, Siddy has disappeared into the smoke and flames.

He could only have been in there for a few seconds, no one could have survived longer, but time took on that elastic quality, as it always does in moments of high anxiety and imminent disaster. Every little detail is scored into your memory; adrenalin seems to heighten your senses to a degree where you notice everything. I can recall that scene now, almost 40 years later, as if I am watching a slow motion video replay. I noticed that one of the valves that connect the hose to the fire engine had a leak, and the water, coming out under pressure, looked like a fan made of glass. I saw some sparks ignite the dead leaves on a nearby tree, and watched melted tar from beneath the roofing felt drip into the green, cast iron guttering. I could hear the spit and crackle of the burning wood, and the crunch of the firemens' boots on the gravel, I could hear my own heart beating.

When Siddy emerged, both he and the whippet that was hanging limp across his arm were smouldering, and his blonde hair was actually on fire. His huge hands were now lumps of raw meat, and a big strip of scorched flesh dangled from his cheek like a bandage that had come undone. A fireman twisted the nozzle of his hose to a different setting and sprayed them both with a fine mist of water. There was no ambulance, no paramedic, but someone put them into a car and drove them both away.

Autumn turned into winter, winter gave way to spring. We moved away, as we always did. and I didn’t see Siddy again that year. The following autumn when we moved back, it wasn’t long before I spotted him. He was walking through the woods, ferret box on his shoulder, the whippet, sporting a large, pink, hairless patch on its back, trotting at his side. He told me that he was in the hospital for a very long time. His hands had healed well, and his blonde curly hair seemed thicker than ever. His face though, was another story. A skin graft had become infected, and it had left an ugly scar that totally disfigured one side of his face. “Down t’ pub,” he told me with a crooked smile, “they calls me t’ Phantom of  t’ Opera.

So that’s how I knew it was definitely Siddy sitting beside me on that bench in Blackpool. I introduced myself, and for half an hour, we talked as if the 40-year gap was no more than the twinkling of an eye. We walked together once more, in the woods at High Hazels.

Mrs Red returned from her shopping and suddenly the spell was broken. Before I knew it, he was gone, leaving me slightly dazed, and wondering if I had imagined the whole thing.

One fateful night in 1968, a fire, and an amazing act of selfless courage left an indelible mark on the face of my boyhood friend, but it’s not nearly as indelible as the mark he left on me.     


May 9th 2006

Confessions Of A Cheapskate

I don’t know if I qualify as a real cheapskate, I don’t mind spending if I think I’m getting value for money, but I deplore waste, and I hate being ripped off.

Take cars for example, I used to dabble in the motor trade and I was amazed how people would really stretch themselves to buy a later model when the one they were driving was perfectly serviceable. I can’t bring myself to subscribe to this way of thinking, the cars I buy are always diesel, usually very high mileage, or accident damaged and repaired etc, but I buy them much cheaper than forecourt prices. I usually own them for between 2 and 4 years and then sell them on; often I get my money back, or make a small profit

The car I’m driving at the moment is a 6-year-old Citroen Xantia; I bought it almost 3 years ago for £2400. It’s fast, comfortable, reliable and has all the extras. It had only done 30,000 when its original owner altered its aerodynamic qualities a little during a drunken altercation with a lamppost. The salvage company did a beautiful repair job, only someone with an experienced eye would ever know. Never the less, the fact that it has been damaged and repaired is recorded, reputable sellers are obliged to make you aware if this, and as a consequence, it’s retail value drops by about 50%

All things considered, I couldn’t really grumble when, after 100,000 miles of carefree motoring, I heard rattling noise coming from under the bonnet. I had a quick look and diagnosed the problem as a worn bush in the pulley that sits on the end of the crankshaft. I’m a reasonably competent mechanic, but to attempt to do your own repairs on modern vehicles these days is folly, once upon a time you could mend almost anything with a pair of pliers and a bit of wire, but now you need specialised tools and equipment for even the most basic tasks, so I resigned myself to a visit to my local garage.

A very wealthy old man owns my local garage, its no wonder that he’s wealthy; he charges an arm and a leg for everything, plus VAT! To make matters worse, the mechanics that work for him are miserable, surly, idle, and rude. I hate the thought of spending my money with them.

The only other garage in the vicinity is ‘Steve’s Autos’, a one-man show housed in an old Nissan hut. Steve, a Mexican immigrant with very little English, is the sort of guy it’s impossible not to like, unassuming, polite, cheerful, smiley, and cheap. The only problem is, he’s a terrible mechanic. It was no contest; I nursed the car over to Steve’s.

“Khello Meester Mickhardy,” Steve flashed me a huge, tea stained smile and helped me from my car, supporting me by placing his oily hand beneath my arm, as you would an invalid. “What I can doing for ju?” I explained the problem, and he lifted my bonnet and peered underneath. He stood there for quite some time, rubbing his chin until it was covered with oil, occasionally cocking his head to one side, dog like, listening intently. Finally he turned back to me, wiped his hands on the front of his overalls and said, “Come, we have cup of tea.”

After showing me to my seat on a bench that was constructed from old railway sleepers and coated with several years’ worth of grease and grime, Steve went to brew up on a matching table. Eventually he handed a huge white mug of washing up bowl proportions, I took the steaming vessel with both hands, marvelling at the intricate pattern of cracks and oily thumbprints. Steve sat down beside me, putting his own mug to one side; he rolled a cigarette from evil looking tobacco and liquorice paper.

We drank together in silence for a while, then, protocol observed, he gave me the benefit of his wisdom. “Ees not pulley is problem,” he announced, blowing out a lungful of acrid smoke. “What ees, er I mean what is it then?” I enquired. “Timing belt tensioner!,” he replied, pronouncing the words slowly, but in perfect English

Steve made a telephone call to order the necessary parts; presumably the bloke on the other end of the line was a Mexican too, because it only took a moment. “Jur car she be ready in two days, we waiting for parts” he told me, “She is ok, Ju can leave her here.” I rang Mrs Red to come and collect me, and after wiping my hands on the front of my shirt as a gesture of friendship, I shook his hand and left

As it turned out, it wasn’t the “Timing belt tensioner” that was making the noise, it was the bush in the pulley that sits on the end of the crank. Steve had ordered the wrong part and caused another two days delay, he apologised profusely, but, he stored my car for four days, charged me only for the cost of the part plus £15 for his labour, made me a memorable cup of tea, and he made me smile.

This week has been one of those weeks, my lawnmower broke down and after a long wait and a lot of swearing, I realised that the manufacturers had supplied me with the wrong part. My pickup was broken into, and after waiting until after the holidays for a multinational company to come out and fit a replacement window, they arrived with the wrong part. One of lights in the ceiling of my caravan exploded, I had to send to York for a new one, despite quoting the serial number and having them read it back to me, they sent me the wrong part, I didn’t get so much as a “Sorry” from any of them

If these guys want any more of my cash, I suggest they invest in some two gallon mugs, and remember to call me "Meester".


April 23rd 2006

"Your Dad's On The Telly, Girls." "But Mam, We Want To Watch Casualty."

After playing the £1500 European Poker Classic at the Vic, I was somewhat disappointed by the elasticated blind structure, so I e-mailed poker 425 with my views, and, as a result, Rhowena Colclough, who was producing the show that week, asked me to come down to the studio in London to debate the matter. Never one to let the chance of making a fool of myself go begging, I said yes.

I knew that tikay always travelled to London by train on recording days, I also knew that his train stopped at Leicester, so I gave him a ring to arrange to meet him so that we could make the journey together. “Yes Tom, I usually leave about midday,” he told me on the phone. “I’ll PM you the details.” At about 4am the following morning, while I was playing the graveyard shift on Ladbrokes, I received this message, “Tom, Rhow wants us to be there early, so that she can go shopping when we get finished, my train will be in Leicester station at 9:30am, see you then.” I made a quick call to travel information to check the time for a connecting train from Hinckley, and the terrible truth dawned upon me, I would have to get up at 7:30

7:30, OMG! Does such a time still exist? Even the sparrows around here don’t consider breaking wind at that ungodly hour. I busted out of the Laddies comp about half an hour later and went straight to bed to get my 3 hours of sleep, nodding off wasn’t easy, I knew that when 7:30 came, my head would feel like it had been nailed to the pillow, and that going to London to do a TV show would seem like a very stupid idea. I was starting to get nervous

Somehow, by 8:50am, I found myself in a platform coffee shop at Leicester station. I was suited, booted, hungry, tired and grumpy. I walked over to the counter, ordered a coffee and a croissant, and went to sit by the window to indulge in one of my favourite pastimes, people watching. As I gazed idly at the crowds of commuters, I noticed an old black porter. He was obviously very near retirement age, and you could tell at a glance that he had been performing the same mundane tasks for a lifetime. Never the less, he had a warm smile on his face as he flitted about busily in his immaculate green uniform, and some kind of sixth sense seemed to steer him towards those who needed his help. His enthusiasm fascinated me.

Tony rang me to let me know that his train was running about 15 minutes late, “Be careful,” he warned me, “It’s going to arrive at the same time as another train now, don’t get on the wrong one” At about 9:40 a train arrived, and I stood there looking at it, undecided. As if by magic, the old porter appeared in front of me and told me that if I was waiting for the delayed train, it would follow in about 5 minutes. "How come people like this never get any recognition?" I thought, as I thanked him for his help. He smiled. I looked down at the name badge on his lapel; it read ‘Arthur Isaacs MBE'

I walked away, suddenly, my bad mood had vanished!

Mr Isaacs ushered me aboard the correct train, and I found tikay sitting at a table in first class. He shook my hand and asked me if I preferred to travel facing the engine or with my back to it, as he was already sitting in the forward facing seat, I said I didn’t mind, I did really though, if God had meant us to travel backwards, he would have given us radar

The journey passed quite quickly. Tony talked at length about the various types of fastenings used in carriage construction, a monologue I can best describe as 'Riveting'

A short ride on the tube and a pleasant walk (including history lesson) later, we arrived at the studio. It was housed in a nondescript, office block type building. We made our way through a labyrinth of stairs and corridors to a small office, which housed a couple of desks with computer terminals; there we met Rhowena, and Dave 'Compo' Compton.

Rhowena, even sans makeup, looked gorgeous. She was wearing a light tan jacket, a cream sweater, and the tightest blue jeans you ever saw. For some reason, I have no idea what Compo was wearing.

After a few pleasantries, Tony told me that it was traditional for him and Compo to go outside just before they recorded the show to discuss content and running order etc, so on this occasion I accompanied them. I found out that what they really did was have a fag and talk about women and horse racing. Compo smokes cigars, as he lit one up I toyed with the idea of doing the old “You look like a film star with that in your mouth” joke, he says, “Really, who?” I say “Lassie having a crap!” I chickened out though, Compo’s a big bloke, and anyway, I would be sitting in a chair opposite him in a few moments, and I would be completely at his mercy

The next thing I knew, we were in a small soundproof room surrounded by cameras and powerful lights. Microphones were attached to lapels, and as Tony and Compo chatted nonchalantly, I polished the seat of my chair to a high gloss with my quivering backside. At some point, Compo was given the cue to start and he instantly fell into presenter mode, looking into the camera he introduced the show in a loud, confident voice. He was in his element, guiding the viewer from one segment to the next, giving Tony the cues he needed, and following the director’s instructions via an earpiece. He made it look so easy, and that I suppose, is the trademark of a true professional.

Tony was amazing. Without any kind of script or rehearsal, he picked up any subject on offer and ran with it. My God that man can talk, his head must be absolutely stuffed with information about the poker scene and the players, and he has opinions about all of it. He’s like a clockwork toy with a very large spring, just wind him up and off he goes, if he does get into trouble, he has this knack of somehow steering the conversation around to trains, Compo’s eyes glaze over and he is happy to move on to something else

From my point of view, it was all a bit overwhelming. Surrounded by all the technology, I felt like a rabbit in the headlights. It was hard not to be distracted by the surroundings and the knowledge that everyone could see and hear me all the time. At one point, I noticed a monitor showing a view of the back of my head that I had never seen before, I saw that my hair was sticking up at an alarming angle. I became totally absorbed with spitting on my fingers and trying to smooth it down until I realised that I looked like a mental case on the monitor showing me from the front

All in all, it was a scary but exciting experience, I loved it. After I had done my bit we went to a break and I was taken to the control room to watch the rest of the show being recorded. The control room was an amazing place, packed to the gills with knobs, dials, buttons, screens and gauges. The bloke in charge (I forget his name, Tarquin or Rupert or something) sat in front of a huge array of switches, hands flying from one to the other with astonishing speed, he directed Compo via a microphone while having a conversation with his sidekick about wine bars, one with Rhow about shopping, and one with me about sticky up hair.

Telly land is like another world, everything is unfamiliar, but the aliens are friendly.   


April 24th 2006

The Berkley casino in Glasgow held their second festival last week and I wanted to go and play the £250 and the £500 main event. Both tournaments were freeze-out ranking events and I really fancied them, my only concern was that the £250 was billed as a 20-minute clock. For a ranking event with a £250 buy in, that was too fast, imo.

The staff at the Berkley, including tournament director Colin Reid and general manager Linda Barby are the most pleasant and helpful people you could wish to meet. So I rang Colin, who I had got to know quite well the last time I played there and he said, depending on the size of the field, he was quite willing to do a longer clock if that was what the players wanted. That was good enough for me

I have to confess, there was one other issue that troubled me. The Berkley does not have wheelchair access, as Ironside so rightly says, it’s unfair to allow a ranking event to take place in a venue that is off limits to the disabled

I didn’t fancy sitting down to play a tournament after driving all the way to Glasgow so, perhaps somewhat influenced by a senior blondite’s senile blathering, I decided to travel by train. After a short hop on the local service from Hinckley to Birmingham New Street, I boarded a sleek virgin. (Sorry for the terminology, but at my age that’s a statement you don’t get to make too often)

It was packed to the gunnels, not a seat to be had, but that was fair enough, I could have reserved one. I didn’t mind too much, I found a nice space in the vestibule between the first and second class carriages where I could stand and admire the view or sit on the floor with my dog eared copy of Harrington on Hold Em

I was just getting into the weighty subject of fourth street continuation betting when I noticed an old man moving slowly down the corridor towards me, aided by his wife and two walking sticks. Upon reaching the vestibule he stopped and leaned against the wall, I looked him over from my position on the floor.

I estimated his age to be somewhere in the mid eighties. He was very smartly dressed in dark jacket, Tattersall check shirt, olive green tie and cavalry twill trousers. In his buttonhole was a poppy and below that a medal ribbon. He was obviously in some distress and his wife fussed around him; I stood up and asked him if there was anything I could do. His wife explained that their had been some sort of problem with their original train and so they had been moved on to this one (Hence the crowding I suppose) she told me they were now unable to find a seat and that she was worried because the old man wasn’t very good on his legs 

Looking through the window into the first class compartment, I could see that there were lots of vacant seats, I tried to persuade the old couple to go and sit in there but my efforts were in vain, they were part of the ‘put up and shut up’ generation, and they wouldn’t dream of breaking the rules. Thankfully, the ticket inspector arrived and I explained the situation and asked permission for the old couple to sit in first class, she must have had a heart of stone because all she could say was “Sorry, it’s not allowed” I took her name, told her that if the old man fell over he could issue a law suit against virgin and that I would be the star witness, she walked away, unmoved

I was determined to find a seats for them so I walked down the carriages asking if anyone was prepared to give up their seat for an old soldier, I was amazed at how many people suddenly became deaf and turned away to look out of the window, by the time I got to the third carriage I was fizzing. “For Gods sake” I said loudly “most of you are wearing poppies, what do you think they are, fashion accessories?”

“There’s a seat here,” said a young man of about seventeen, I thanked him profusely and asked him to wait while I brought the old man. He shuffled along the isle, wife in tow, and sank into the vacated seat, I stared at the woman sitting next to him until she too got to her feet and let the couple sit together

I returned to my vestibule to find the young man sitting on the floor, we began to talk and he was great company. Lost in conversation, the rest of the journey seemed to fly by. Before I knew it, we were rolling in to Glasgow central

I left the train and sat on a bench to get my coat from my bag, as I stood up I saw the old woman again, helping her husband down onto the platform. At that moment the young man who had vacated his seat passed by, the old soldier stood erect, smiled and raised his hand to his temple in an informal salute

I swallowed a huge lump in my throat and walked on, suddenly very happy



The poker was actually very enjoyable, except for the small number of entrants, 49 for the £250 and 28 for the £500. True to his word the TD extended the clock for the £250 to 30 minutes, the blind structure was excellent and there was plenty of room to play. I was very pleased with my game and although I didn’t make the money in either event I think I made only one mistake, with 13 players left in the £250 I re raised what I knew to be a 2k steal on my big blind all in for 10k more holding 66, thinking he would have to have a monster to call. He didn’t have a monster but called anyway for all his chips with A6, the A came first card and I was damaged beyond repair

In the £500 with 11 players left I got them all in pre flop with 10 10 v Burnley John’s AK, he won the race and that was that. It was nice to spend some time with Burnley, I don’t know him very well but we got on like old friends. He helped me out last week at Sheffield when I left my lights on and flattened my car battery; he’s a great player and, somewhere deep inside, a true gent

My journey home was a complete contrast. The weather was gorgeous; the train half empty, and the ticket inspector (A Chinese Yorkshire man) went out of his way to help me. It seems I had got on to the wrong train, apparently I was supposed to go home via Preston and not Leeds

“Tha’s ont wrong train youth” he informed me, “A’hm spost t charge thee extra”
With that he took my ticket and wrote on it something to the effect that I had been given the wrong information at Glasgow, “Ere, tha’ll ave no trouble now, pillock!” he said, face inscrutable save for a conspirital wink

We were a few miles out of Leeds and I was staring idly out of the window when I saw a place I recognised immediately, although it must be 35 years since I’d last seen it, we were crossing a bridge and below was a place where we had stopped (Parked our caravans) for a few weeks when I was a boy

I remembered it so vividly because my brother Tracy and I had used that very railway bridge to play ‘Russian roulette’ it worked like this. We tied a length of rope to the railway track and the other end to a lorry tyre. The tyre was then suspended over the side of the bridge and allowed to swing about 6 feet from the ground and we would take turns to sit in it, 10 minutes each until a train came by and cut the unlucky one down, amid howls of laughter from the escapee, I suffered this fate what I considered to be more than my fair share of times and I came up with a plan for revenge

I balanced a plank of wood across an old Calor gas bottle to form a see saw and convinced my brother Tracy to stand on one end while I dropped the lorry tyre on the other end from the bridge, he agreed to this willingly, he was always as brave as a lion but a bit gullible, I have almost killed him several times over the years

Tracy positioned himself on the plank, grinning up at me expectantly; I was about to drop the tyre when I had a sudden and unusual rush of common sense. How high would he go? I wondered. Just to be on the safe side, I asked him to get off and put a brick on instead, this he did and I let the tyre go

The brick, one of those really heavy blue engineering jobbies shot into the air much faster than I thought it would, and because I was leaning over the bridge to watch, it was heading straight for my face. I pulled my head back quickly and the brick flew right on up, as I followed its trajectory I fell over backwards like a penguin watching a jet going overhead

Suddenly the brick that I was watching getting smaller was getting bigger again and I realised too late that it was going to land on me. I put my hands over my head, which wasn’t much help because the brick landed squarely in my crotch

It was an explosion of pain, I lay there, curled into a pathetic little ball, moaning and vomiting, Tracy laughed so hard he was curled up and vomiting too

I was unable to walk for about three days, when I did manage it I was so bow legged I couldn’t stop a pig in an entry. The swelling was magnificent, in fact the only good thing is, it never really went away
 

Hi guys, I was going to do a trip report, but all the tournament details have already been provided in the live updates, and a cracking good read they are too

There is also a first class tournament report by Jen on the main page, Jen writes so beautifully, anything I might add would be like a skid-mark on a cassock, so instead, I have decided to try to give you a “Behind the scenes” look at blondpoker, as an expert team of mods, updaters, and admin swing into action


I am the first of “Team blonde” to arrive

I am 4 hours early because I mistakenly thought the Wales v England rugby match was to be played at Cardiff Arms Park and the roads would be chokka block, it turned out that it was played elsewhere and I sailed down in record time. The only delay being the 10 minutes I spent trying to convince the bloke manning the toll on the Severn Bridge that my pickup should be classed as a car and not a commercial vehicle (£5 difference in price)

“It’s no bigger than a car,” I ventured, as an opening gambit

“A mouse is no bigger than an onion” he replied, “but that doesn’t make it a vegetable”

“I don’t use it as a commercial vehicle though” I pleaded

“But you COULD, if you wanted to” he said, unmoved

“I’ll tell you what” I whispered, “Why don’t you just pretend it’s a car?”

“Ok” he said with a wink, “Just give me a tenner and pretend it’s a fiver”


The casino is located at one corner of a vast car park that also serves several big retail outlets, a cinema, a pub, and a hotel. It’s a huge car park

I parked in what looked like a quiet spot. I had a bed in the back of my pickup, one, because I love to sleep as close to the outdoors as I can, and two because I’m sick of paying for hotel rooms only to bust out of the comp at 10pm and drive home without using them


I met a few other early birds in reception, one being Lord Lawrence Gosney of Leeds. Resplendent in his Barbour wax shooting jacket. He always wears it, winter and summer, being a Yorkshire man I think he’s trying to get his moneys worth, he would need an anaesthetic to get it off

He looked like he was going hunting, which to his mind, he probably was


I had some time to kill so I did what I always do at times like these, eat!

I asked a smiling young man behind the bar, “Do you do meals?”

“Yes, fish and chips, burger and chips..” he replied.

“Can I see a menu please?” I asked

He produced one quickly, printed on it in bold type were the words

FISH AND CHIPS

BURGER AND CHIPS


Halfway through my meal my phone rang, it was Snoops. In a slightly agitated voice he asked me, “Where are you?”

“I’m in the casino, where are you?”

“I don’t know”

“Are you in Cardiff Snoops?”

“Is it near the airport? I almost got there but now I’m going away again, eeek!”

At this point the phone went dead, concerned, I carried on eating my burger.


Jen arrived, looking fresh, radiant, and ready for anything, I went to greet her and offered her a hand with setting up mission control, she accepted gracefully, but really I think I was more of a hindrance than a help, Jen is an old hand at this and I’m like a bull in a china shop.

The first problem was, we had no Internet access. The Vodafone 3G card, like my mobile during my conversation with spoony, kept losing the signal

Jen, who is a bit of a computer whiz, got us connected to an outside service provider by waving a credit card and shouting at someone


Mr Kendal, with his usual impeccable timing, made his entrance, nodding and waving condescendingly to his wide-eyed admirers as he minced toward us through the card room

He plonked himself down at the updates table, produced his laptop, and with a flourish turned it on, nothing happened.

He turned it off and on again 30 or 40 more times, nothing. He plugged it out and in again, nothing. He held it upside down and shook it, nothing.

“What do you think is wrong?” I asked

“I dunno”

“Has it done it before?”

“I dunno”

“Have you dropped it?”

“I dunno”

“Do you think it’s a dodgy power lead?”

“I dunno”

“Ok, what’s the back up plan?”

“I dunno”

When things go wrong there’s nothing like having a decisive leader at the helm, and, credit where it’s due, he was nothing like a decisive leader.

We thought perhaps the fuse had gone so I was despatched to try and find a replacement.

“Do you have a fuse?” I asked the lady on reception who was by now very busy with a great horde of people all trying to get into the casino at the same time

“Yes” she replied, “But at the moment it’s very short”

We were down to one laptop, and that with a dodgy, expensive connection.


My phone rang again and I dashed over to the corner of the room that provided the best reception, it was Snoops again…

“Is it on a huge car park?”

“Yes snoops”

“I can see half of a building with the word INO written on it, is that it?”

“Yes Snoops”

“Ok, see you in a mo”

Ten minutes later my phone rang again

“I can’t get in to the car park, the barrier won’t open”

“That’s the exit barrier snoops”


El blondie comes up to me and says, “Hi Tom, I have the blondepoker shirt you ordered, it’s in the car”

“That’s great” I reply

“You can’t have it though, he says with a weary shake of his head, “Rhow had a load of them made, but she forgot to tell them to put blondepoker on them” and with a long suffering smile, he walked away.


Another half an hour passes, still no sign of Snoppy, I go outside to investigate

I find him walking around his car with a pencil and paper in his hand; he has locked his keys in the boot

“Have you rung anyone?” I ask him

“Yes” he says, his face a mask of concern, “I rang my mum”


I had a fantastic time at Cardiff, it’s a great pleasure to be with these guys, but the next time one of my grand kids wants a cowboy outfit, I’m putting a bid in for blondepoker.