Luton Calling.

[nirvana]

Sounds like you had a great time, great fun reading these :-)

[dwayne110]

Do love your reports, colourful and detailed; definitely a great addition to blonde 👌

[celtic]

Sounds like you had a great time, great fun reading these :-)

[Ransom]

Thank you all for the nice comments, I enjoy writing these as much as people seem to enjoy reading them! I've been meaning to get another one up sooner, but I've spent the past week getting hammered at online cash.

---

"Did you know Jacks are the only hand on the flop that can't make the nuts?" - "What about if you just flop quads?" - "Yeah but someone might go running Royal Flush so it can't be the nuts". - Overhead at an Aria $1/$3 cash game, 18th June 2015. No money in hold'em, everyone's solid.

---

DAY FOUR

I get up as I have done the past three mornings. Bleary eyed, and with a face so dry from the arctic air con in my room that one fedora would have me looking a dead ringer for Freddy Kreuger. Shower, slice of now 54 hour old cold pizza, downstairs for Gatorade (Fruit Punch today, vile) and to post up at the first video poker machine with an ashtray to plan the day ahead. Cocktail waitress comes along, rude not to. 10am in Vegas is 3am in England so it was fine in my book.

We were heading downtown for Binion's $240 H.O.R.S.E event, that much was certain. Limit mixed games are my thing, and have been for the past 2 years. I've been a steady winner at them online for quite a while, so confidence was pretty high. Walk in, 3bets/4bets/cap all day, get a trophy. The plan was set, ready to rumble.

"I was born on fifth street, everyone else is just visiting"

I'd become well acquainted with the guy who calls cabs forward at Circus Circus, he'd ask me what I was playing today and wished me good luck each time which was nice. Funny thing is he never seemed to have any time off. He'd be out front with his whistle from 10am until I got back at 2am, and he'd be doing cabs again in the morning. I'd always tip him, because I still wasn't sure who to tip in Vegas. Everyone got one dollar bills just to be on the safe side.

We get Downtown far too early, because I thought it was a midday comp, when it actually started at 2pm. My first thoughts of Downtown is that the Freemont Street Experience is actually pretty tiny. Barring the wait at the crossing halfway down, you can get from one side to the other in about 3 minutes of walking. It also looks pretty depressing during the day with nobody about apart from old Vietnam war veterans begging on the street. Far cry from the glitter of the strip.

I wasn't in a particularly gamble-y mood, so my options to kill time felt fairly limited. I also couldn't drink in the street like a pissy old tramp because of some pathetic rules on Freemont so I felt totally lost as to what to do for the next two hours. They wouldn't let me reg the comp for another 60 minutes, so I went to The D because it was the only casino that didn't have wooden everything and a sense that Kenny Rodgers was going to post up next to me wearing a cowboy hat and tell me that I should know when to hold them, and when to fold them.

The D is my type of casino. Loud, brash and with 1980's rock music pumping out at max volume. They had a promotion outside where you could win the car from Knight Rider or something. It was pretty barren though, apart from the usual early morning pension burners. They also had a McDonald's, which satisfied my urge or eating nothing but fast food for the whole of my trip. They also seemed to have the highest concentration of cocktail waitresses to square meter of casino floor I've seen, which was a huge plus.

I choose to limit my gambling in here to $50, and find the best way to make it last for 45 minutes before I can register for the tourney at Binion's. I don't know how Pai Gow works so slots it was. I thought slot machines were for the criminally degenerate, and the people on lifetime downswings who were just one spin away from getting even - but this one had huge speakers in the headrest and lights in the floor. I thought it was too cool to pass up.

It was KISS themed, the glam rock band from the 1970s. And each time you'd win it would scream "OH YEAAAAAAAAAAAAH" into your ears at deafening volume and this strobe light would go off on the top making you pleased you didn't have epilepsy. I thought it was the greatest thing ever, and I had great fun just making loads of noise around the people who wanted to lose their money quietly. I was in for $50, I just pressed go and let it ride.

Max credits is $4 a spin. Which got me 12 goes, or around 90 seconds of slot play if I were to lose it all. I'd heard you should always play max credits, and not be a nit grinding it out for pennies. Within 4 spins we had activated the feature. All these little spotlights turned on and started flashing, and it started playing "I Was Made For Loving You" at a universe splitting volume. For all this fanfare, I was rewarded with 8 free spins. I felt the celebration was a bit excessive for what was essentially $32 worth of free play.

I didn't know what symbols paid what, I just hoped for the screen to show more than $50 at the end of it. Which it did. There was a gold Gene Simmonds symbol that was the holy grail of the machine. Get 5 in a row and win some decent money. We hit a long golden jackpot Gene Simmonds and then four full stacks of wilds across 10 lines on the final free spin.



It paid $3217. The machine starts shouting "ALLLLLLLLLRIGHTTTTTTTT HUUUUUUUGE WINNNNNNNNNNNNN" really bloody loud with the lights going mental and at that point I was being stared with envious eyes by everyone else pumping bills into these machines without winning a bean. Imagine it, you've been grinding slots for years with no success (obviously), then some arsehole kid who's never played one in his life smacks the most obnoxious slot machine in the world on his 3rd spin for $3200 and change. I took the money and legged it, before anyone could figure out which alley to drag me down and rob me. Probably should have turned the sound down a bit in hindsight.

I was happy with the bink. I was more happy to be freerolling this H.O.R.S.E comp. Priorities well in order, we are finally allowed to register at Binion's. It's hard to believe that this place used to hold the WSOP. The tournament area is flanked with rails of discount Las Vegas clothes and dealers wearing this odd yellow and brown attire which made them look like overripe bananas. In for $240, draw a 5 seat so I can see the flop. Which is pretty irrelevant because 3/5ths of the games are Stud games so I would be craning my neck to see boards for 3/5ths of the comp anyway.

Table Draw

Seat 1 - A woman from England that spoke like Mary Poppins who'd never played limit poker, Stud, Razz or Stud/8 in her life. She won almost every pot she was in through voodoo magic and super backdoor wheels. 
Seat 2 - A skinny mute gentleman. Can't give any more info because he never spoke.
Seat 3 - Old guy who looked like Santa Claus with a Vietnam Veteran hat that had dates on it like he got it made for Stag Do or something.
Seat 4 - Lovely old lady who obviously limp/call got there each time she made it two bets.
Seat 5 - Me, hero, and riding a two year mixed game heater.
Seat 6 - Chap who kindly told me a 30 minute history of Binion's without me asking him to.
Seat 7 - Last years winner, middle aged woman who works for Pokerstars who was hot in a lonely housewife sort of way.
Seat 8 - Internet kid, only person in the whole of Downtown rocking hoodie/headphones combo.

20,000 starting chips. 100/200 blinds with 200/400 bets in flop games. 25 ante, 100 bring in, 200 completion and 200/400 bets in Stud games. Good structure with a 30 minute clock.

We dispatch the internet kid at 600/1200 Stud/8 or better where I cap betting pre with ( ) with all spades live. Catch the  on 5th street and it gets capped again vs his (X-X) A-Q-Q. We make a 6 lo with the on 6th street and the  on the river where he's all in for his last 3000 or so with three queens for a big scoop and 60,000 in chips heading into dinner break. I'd never made a dinner break before. We spent it drinking Vodka and Pineapple at the bar and preparing an acceptance speech for our trophy.

Then it all goes tits up. We leak chips, get quartered three times in Omaha/8 (twice with the high), brick mega draws vs pairs in Razz and we manage to pick up 99 with 16k behind in limit holdem at 3000/6000. We raise UTG, it folds around to the lovely old lady in the BB who makes it three bets. Awesome.

She has KK and we lose. I feel I played well though (with a cracking fold in Stud when I make a flush on 5th Street vs (X-X) A-6-6 who snap 4bets me with Aces full) so no harm done. We were also up $3k through that daft slot machine.

A free evening on Freemont Street, with bags under my eyes and bags in my pockets (quote credit: Jack Salter). We play another slot machine, hit a screen full of wilds for another $400. Then lose it playing blackjack 30 minutes later. I play blackjack with a girl from Canada who really wanted to go to England, so I gave her a £5 note as a souvenir. Her boyfriend comes over and gets all weird and for some reason plonks $1000 down at a $5 minimum table like he wanted to get into a dick swinging contest in front of his Mrs. Kind of ruins the illusion when you buy in for a bag and then keep changing your $25 chips for $5s to bet minimums. He loses some, we win some. Me and the girl talk about Bon Jovi and England while he sits and makes his $5 wagers. 

By 9am we had been in every casino at least three times, and felt we had exhausted Freemont Street this year. Cab back to the Hotel. See the taxi stand man still there doing his thing and tell him of our adventures. He asks when I'm going back to play at the Rio for the WSOP. I get a rush of blood to the head and snap say "now" and he chucks me in a cab to the field of dreams.

We play a $300 2-7 Sit and Go, and get 3rd when we run our pat 8-5-4-3-2 into a one card draw that makes number 4 for a gruesome 7-6-5-4-2.

We play $1/$3 No limit and get our Sng buy in back within 20 minutes when we get in AK vs QQ and flop trip Kings.

We play $1/$2 Big O and do in $250 when our AA22T double suited loses to AATT5 with a T on the flop.

We play $15 a point Open Face Chinese Pinapple and do in close to $1800 in 90 minutes against a Vietnamese guy who spent more time in Fantasyland than out of it.

All in good fun though, and we were still $1000 or so up for the day which gives us three winning days on the bounce. I go back to the hotel, and head to the bar. I meet this American teacher called Chad (I said this was the most American name ever, and spent the next two hours calling him Chad Eagle-Burger because of it), and this newly turned 21 year old kid from Sheffield who was here with his parents. We became this rowdy trio of misfit friends playing craps, chasing women around the casino and drinking tequila from 1am until 7am.

We taught Chad Eagle-Burger various English words and we told him that 'Nonce' was a term of affection and if you say it to someone in England then they'd love it. He goes to bed, and leaves us with "See you nonces soon!". I hope he forgot the word in the morning, because I don't want to be responsible for his potential death.

All in all, a fun day. I played a slot machine for the first time and won a bunch, played well in a comp, almost stole someone's girlfriend and maybe close to bankrupted someone in the process, partied in a dirty casino and played under the 'High Limit Cash Game' banner at the WSOP.

It's all downhill from here.

 

[atdc21]

Gotta say- great writing.

[hhyftrftdr]

More please. And don't leave it a week between posts!

[KingPush]

Probably the best diary on here at the moment. GL v the slots

[redsimon]

More, please. Stayed at the D , brought back some memories from two weeks ago!

[Ransom]

I had passed hangovers in the morning at this point and now I just felt nothing. I didn't feel particularly normal mind, but there was no general grimy feeling that usually comes with waking up 3 hours after you went to bed annoyed that it's only three and a half hours since you fell asleep open mouthed and face down in hotel sheets that hadn't been changed for 5 days.

I felt I had to keep drinking, or the cumulative hangover might literally kill me.

---

DAY FIVE

I was a bit annoyed about how much money we managed to lose playing Open Face Pineapple at the Rio about 10 hours prior, especially when I freely admit I am not that good at it. I tried to remind myself that it was degenerate gambling money we lost doing degenerate gambling and it was all fair game, but it was eating away at me a bit. I could have sat $5/$10 and probably came out ahead, or at least had a fair run at the $20/$40 limit mixed game they had on three tables over, but I decided to spew. Then I remembered we were still up $1200 from yesterday and it could have been a touch worse I suppose. I was due a spew, and I found some solace in the fact we did it when we were comfortably up rather than doing it in a race to get even.

I didn't particularly want to do anything today though. Weird. All these opportunities to embrace my addictive tendencies with all sorts of nastiness and I planned to lay in my pizza sauce stained bed and watch Netflix all day. Plan ruined within 5 minutes because Circus Circus' free Wi-Fi wouldn't let me stream video. Paying resort fees for a place that has no amenities apart from a death trap rollercoaster which I assumed was powered that morning by my own sense of self loathing.

It's probably part of the problem when you head to Vegas on your own. You're left to your own devices a little too much. Nobody about to say "Let's go flick in some sports bets on games we know nothing about" or "Let's stop eating McDonald's and go for a decent meal". I just cabbed aimlessly to the middle of the trip and straight into the CVS near Harrahs to buy a comically oversized $2 beer to keep the hangover from kicking in and because 'Bollocks, nobody knows me here and I can look like a huge vagrant at 11am if I want to". If the liquor shop in Venetian is giving out free shots at this time, I can wander the streets of Vegas topping up the booze that was leaking out of my pores from the previous night. Got to keep the scales level, because I don't think my travel insurance covered "death by hangover".

I passed through Harrah's to buy cigarettes and I heard her calling. "CIGARETEEEESSSSSSS, CIGAAARRRRRRRRS, ROSES!". The red headed girl of my dreams selling her wares. I'd played out scenarios as to how I'd woo her, and we would live happily ever after with her selling fags and me playing poker and it would all be merry and nice. I mustered up my courage and went over.

I mumbled "Marlboro Menthols please", paid and walked straight out the back. Blew it the second I realised I had a huge sweat on from walking around in the heat, shaking like a junkie because of nerves/mild alcohol poisoning and a general shady nature about me that would get me turned away from a Las Vegas streetwalker. Never mind, she'll be there next year and I'll do it then.

I hadn't been in Caesars Palace yet, so I decided to go and see what was what. Hopped in the $125 tourney that had kicking off half an hour later as a time killer. Greeted by a table of misfits and generally miserable people, bar the flamboyantly gay gentleman decked out in diamonds. He had at least a main event buy in's worth on his left hand alone. I thought he might be a pimp or something, but he told me his husband owned a few Las Vegas pawn shops, which I can imagine do great business in the summer.

We get to the final table before 25 point chips are even raced off. Coolers from start to finish in the whole thing it seemed. 27 runners, with 10,000 starting chips a piece - down to 9 before the first break even showed signs of starting. We went in to the final table with about 35,000 in chips and everyone was reasonably stacked for 800/1600/200 blinds. We lose 2 players within 15 minutes and we end up as the short stack.

We get to around 60,000 when we flop a set of and get it in vs JT on  and we just decide to shove pretty much every hand that folds to us now we were on the bubble, and ship every decent-ish hand if someone min raises. We work up to about 85,000 three handed and pick up  on the button. We ship it in, and get called.

"Why are you all in with  ?" cried the American.
"Why did you call with QT?" Said the kid from Cornwall.

Ace high holds, and we go heads up with the heir to a pawn shop fortune. No talk of a deal, which was nice. I can imagine with the win here, this chap can buy another diamond in the watch he was wearing.

I'd like to say it was a ferocious battle for the ages, but it was mainly a bunch of raise/folding while he told me about the time he bet a table at Venetian $100 each that he could dance the whole routine to Single Ladies by Beyonce. He did it, they paid up. I almost wanted to bet him that I could still do the routines I learned for my school production of Bugsy Malone back in 1998. But this was Caesar's Palace, and not Fat Sam's Grand Slam Speakeasy.

We get it all in with KK vs AT. An ugly  on the turn sends us out in 2nd place with $850 for our troubles and reasonable shot at five winning days on the bounce. Can never run like this in Luton.

I settled on the chicken shop in the Venetian again for my dinner, and had a massive scare when I thought I lost my passport. I'd misplaced my driving license in my hotel room the night before when I'd drunkenly slung everything from my pockets onto the floor, so I was using it for ID that day. Turned out I forgot I had a back pocket on my jeans. Probably not the safest place to put it in hindsight. After yet another healthy meal, I decided I was going to play Baccarat in the Venetian with my Caesar's Palace silver medal money.

I sat in between a couple of Chinese folks all violently scribbling down results of past hands onto a notepad with my $850. My Cantonese isn't that great, in fact I only know one phrase. "Aii Ya". Which roughly means "Oh no!" I think. I was going to take the liberty of shouting it every time I lost. I was sure they'd enjoy that. I didn't get much of a chance to, because we binked pretty much every hand for the next hour and span up to about $2500. Last night's Open Face Pinapple game was now a distant memory. I sat there chain smoking and making vs and every "MONKEY!" we shouted for came in. This was my Macau.

The Chinese guys spoke fair English and taught me another phrase. "Feng". When you get to squeeze the last card in Baccarat and you're looking for a 6, you say "Feng" apparently. "Feng" means wind, and you want to blow away the middle spot on the card that would give you a 7. If I'm ever in China, and it starts blowing a gale, I at least have a full phrase in me that would express my unhappiness at the situation. "Aii ya, feng!"

I got up after a couple of hours for a wander around, and got the first $1k chips of my life. I was already resigned to the fact I probably wasn't leaving with them, so these little yellow and black discs already felt like they were turning to ash in my hands. I was buying into Vegas again. $2k can be turned into $10k, right? I mean I'd done $850 into $2500 already, just a little cheeky double double up and we can punt the main event.

From 11pm until midnight it was all going pretty steady. Up $100, down $100. Up $200, down $200. Good amount of hands tying as well. Then we get the dealer from hell. Every 8 or 9 we got was followed by a 3 and a T/J/Q/K. We bled down to $500, and decided on shipping it all in, the winning streak riding on this one purple chip. We squeak out a win and get back to $1000, before calling it a night when we're back at our original $850 buy in.

I mean we didn't lose, and I imagine drank our way through $200 worth of complementary cocktails, but it was a depressing feeling. I honestly felt like one of those casino punters you see just doing their bollocks night and day despite being up around $800 for the day. There's a reason I rarely play table games back home, they're just so unfulfilling, win or lose.

I end up leaving the Venetian at 6am, count out the $850 we'd won and stick it in the safe. I check my pockets for any extra debris and realise I am one passport lighter.

[RED-DOG]

Just too good. 

[LonOhRay]

Only just read this, very good read

[Ransom]

It's funny how minutes seem to feel like hours in bad situations. They seem to feel like days when you realise you might be well and truly fucked.

---

DAY SIX

We had been very lucky this trip. Everything seemed to come in for us in one way or another, so it's only fitting that the streak of good luck should crash and burn sooner or later. I'd have preferred it to happen when safely back in England, but even in the 42 degree heat of Las Vegas - when it rains, it pours.

I've lost my passport. I fly home tomorrow.

I retrace my steps in my head for the past two hours, and my heart nearly falls out of my arse when I realise that if I've left it in the back of a cab, it's a long shot I'd get it back. I had no idea what the taxi company was called, what the cab number was or even what the driver looked like. I figure it's kind of an unlikely scenario given I was wearing jeans so skinny that I was walking like I shat myself, so it shouldn't have just fallen out of my back pocket. The Venetian is my only hope, and the difference between going back to a fairly comfortable life in England with a funny story and becoming one of those people who live in the storm drains underneath Sin City.

We get a cab back to the Venetian, and for the first time in a week there is no taxi stand guy. The one person who could probably tell me the taxi company that brought me back to the hotel based on the colour and shape of the car isn't there. I hope you enjoyed your day off while I was suffering mate.

I go straight to the Baccarat table I was playing at a couple of hours prior and ask if I left a passport there. Kind of pointless because I don't speak Cantonese apart from "Aii Ya" and there's obviously a new dealer who doesn't speak English apart from "Player", "Banker" and "Push".

I try the Grazie desk, and they say they have three passports that have been left behind during the night. They pull them out and there are two UK passports, and and Australian one. They take my name, and hold one of the UK passports up to check my grizzled and anxious face against the picture. Then she slides it towards me. I've never been so happy to see my Crimewatch-esque passport photo in my life. The piercing gaze of a sex attacker now looked like a welcoming smile. I could go home now, but I didn't really want to. Funny that. All I wanted was to get my passport back so I could catch my flight, and now that I had it - I wanted to stay forever.

Cabbed back to Circus Circus, with my passport clutched tightly to my chest. I accidentally paid with a $100 instead of a $10 because all the bills look the same to me, and vanished before the driver could tell me. Not like he would anyway. I didn't really care at this point. Once we get back to the room, I find my driving license in the bedside drawer along with all of the prostitute cards I'd collected a few days previously. I'm glad I found it, because I didn't want my name and face connected with a bunch of hooker adverts.

It was about 7am or so, and I was wide awake now. I had to force myself to sleep so I could have one more night in Vegas, so I bought some sleeping pills from the shop on the casino floor. $3, chuck them down your neck and close your eyes. The thing with sleeping pills is that if you don't fall asleep straight away, you start dreaming when you're awake. It can be a very interesting experience. I laid on my bed, eyes closed for about 30 minutes, and we started to have the strangest visions. When you open your eyes, they stop. I laid on my bed trying to will myself into a chemical KO, tripping my balls off having vivid visions of casino dealers dealing blackjack on the beach, and that I was inside a slot machine and could see the inner workings of the reels and there was a rope to pull to ring the bells when a jackpot hit. All very strange. Then it was 5pm.

10 hours isn't a particularly long time to be asleep, but it felt like I'd been out for days. I'd never felt better, and I was very keen for one last rumble at the Rio. Cabbed there by 6pm, paid with the right money this time and registered the 6pm $135 Deepstack. I saw Elky steaming by at a very brisk pace looking quite unhappy on my way into the Pavillion room. The light bounced of his peroxide blonde hair like a hi vis jacket and it made him look like he was bald, pretty funny.

I had about three sugar free Red Bulls during the first hour. Apparently they use a different artificial sweetener in the USA that the Brits aren't used to, and it can make you pretty sick if you have too much too soon. I spend the next 4 hours not sure which end I was going to expel fluids from, back and forth to the toilets every 15 minutes. Today was pain, relief, pain. I hoped it would all come full circle and we would be back at relief soon - even if the relief came after chucking the contents of my stomach into the Rio toilets. On my final dash to the toilet, I bumped into Liv Boeree. I'm not particularly tall but I towered over the girl. She gave me this knowing look, like she was well aware of the issue I was facing. The relief came, thankfully out of the top end of me. I felt well and ready to go on a deep run, but we bust on the first hand back at the table. Pain-Relief-Pain-Relief-Pain.

At midnight we said goodbye to the Rio for the year. In my head I turned it into some over-romanticized moment, like I was Rocky Balboa and it was Apollo Creed and that I had lost the first fight. I stood outside looking at it for a good 15 minutes and just thought about how I am going forward with poker from now on. It's the only thing I want to succeed in, and I fantasised about coming back year after year and being the best in the world one day. I felt like a child who wants to be Superman, and how impossible it all seemed to be. All these people here who want the same thing. Young and old, male and female, every single race and religion meeting here to battle it out for glory and to go down in history. I was never a kid who was supposed to amount to much. I grew up in one of the most deprived areas in the UK, where schooling was terrible and jobs were non existent.  I remember being 8 years old and having to go to school in second hand school uniform because my family didn't have much money back then, eating free school meals and going back to a freezing cold house in the winter. Having to hide from people knocking at the door in case they wanted money, having to lie to friends when they asked why I didn't have a Playstation or a big TV or brand name football boots. Becoming someone here is my apology to 8 year old me, and only when I get it will I finally be content with myself. I finally understood what I am doing this for. It's not so I can show off and be on TV, it's not so I can make it rain and make people jealous. It's so that I can erase all of those bad memories, and be happy with myself. Funny way to try and do it.

We might not have won the first fight here, but Rocky wins in the end.

Gotta fly now.

---

EPILOGUE - DAY SEVEN

Midnight counts as a new day.

I was going to squeeze every last second I could out of this city. I had to be at the airport for 9:30am, to leave for Philadelphia at 11am. I went down to the casino floor for a cigarette, and I ran into my pal Chad Eagle-Burger from the night before. He was with his dad, who spent a good portion of the morning after our antics in hysterics after hearing tales of the night he spent parting with two mouthy Brits. They were leaving in the morning to fly back to one of those nameless boring flyover states, so we decided to have one more night drinking and gambling.

Turns out you really lose your stamina for getting wild and lairy once you hit 70, so me and Mr Eagle-Burger were left to our own devices after an hour. We load up the shots, and try and get comped for as many drinks as we can for the smallest outlay. We hit up some Baccarat and go in for $1000, because it was the most anyone was in for at the table and I wanted one night of feeling like a massive baller.

We sink 9 Vodka and pineapples, and smash the banker bet for $200 a go 13 times in a row at our peak for a $2000 win. The Chinese guys at the table were scribbling furiously on their notepads. I couldn't read Chinese, but I imagine it said "LUCKY PRICK" in jagged little symbols. We finally lose one, and get to say "Aii Ya". The Chinese contingent loved it, they accepted me as one of their own saying "You know Aii Ya! He knows Aii Ya!".

The pit boss offered me a couple of nights free stay off of this, which wasn't happening. I had $200 on my comp card and he upgraded me to the Platinum card. Which I imagine is a bit like being the tallest midget. It's hardly Five Diamond Elite Status. I span my comp points away at high limit slots for a bit, and hit the bar. I split a drink over the video poker machine, had to actually pay full price for a drink and scared two girls away after buying them shots. I took this as a clear sign that the Vegas magic had worn off, and nothing was going to bring it back. 4am. Game over.

Counted up the final result. +$7000 and change. It's not huge chunks to a lot of people here, but it was victory. And victory is priceless.

They board us for our flight to Philadelphia on time. Everyone is sat down, some more eager to depart than others. Then they tell us Air Traffic Control is striking in Philadelphia, and the flight is delayed indefinitely. I have two hours to make a connection to Manchester, so it looks like that is dead in the water. The plane is on the verge of mutiny, like someone is going to jump into the cockpit and fly it themselves. I have a German women who barely spoke English blissfully unaware of all of this trying to tell me that she is going to Frankfurt over and over. Like a broken record. I didn't have the energy in me to tell her it wasn't happening.

They shift us all out, and tell us to re-arrange flights with the customer service desk. A line 200 people long, and me at the back of it. After an hour of waiting, we get close to the front of the line and expect the worst.

"AMERICAN AIRWAYS FLIGHT TO PHILIADELPHIA IS NOW BOARDING". Strike is off, flight is back on. 100 people have transferred their flight and we still have our seat. One last sprinkle of Vegas magic and the English approach to queuing saves the day. We finally get back around from pain to relief.

5 hours to Philly, still sat next to the German woman who seems to need to get up and use the toilet every 15 minutes. We touch down and manage to make our connection the boarding gate for Manchester with 20 minutes to spare. The German woman had followed me to my gate, I guess when I was just nodding along and smiling when she was telling me about her flight to Frankfurt made her think I was going there too. I told her this was going to England, and she freaked out. "MR PLEASE SHOW ME HOW TO GET TO FRANKFURT!!" she shouts, and starts grabbing my arm to drag me down the terminal to show her the way. What happened to German efficiency?

I had to tell her in no short terms to piss off in the end, because it was bordering on assault with the way she was pulling be about. I hadn't been this abused by a woman since Mrs Phan slapped me in the face by accident at the Wednesday PLO/Holdem Comp at the Luton G.

Nicely settled in for the 6 hour flight to Manchester. Choose a film on the touchscreen monitor and tuck myself in with my complementary blanket. It's hard to find happiness on a plane, but for 5 minutes I had it. Until we get told we are delayed for two hours because the aircon is broken and we would boil alive/suffocate if we take off. Next time, I will get an Amtrak across the country and work on a Russian cargo ship for 3 weeks to get home. Would surely be less hassle.

I'd never been so happy to see England. Mainly because it was raining and I was no longer sweating gallons. On the train home, I wrote down most of this diary on my tablet and realised how much I like doing it. It's good to get thoughts out in the open, and you guys are the only ones that get to hear them. This is all from my brain, through the internet, to you. I hope one day to look back on this and see how far I've come, and I hope you guys continue to enjoy it as much as you say you have been.

It was a fun ride in Vegas, if only for a week. It all went so quickly, but it re-ignited my passion for the grind.

We're going to get there. I don't want to be another statistic, or an "if only" story. Hard work, long hours, and persistance. I owe it to myself.

Fight. 

[Ricardov83]

Brilliant, brilliant read. I have read and enjoyed every word. 

Keep writing please but, whatever you do, don't erase the memory of your childhood however negative it was.

[RED-DOG]

Listen, I know that most of the idle bastards on here haven't bothered to say so, but I guarantee that everyone who read that really enjoyed it.

 

[edgascoigne]

Wonderful read - thank you for sharing