It is clear they work on the Greek principle that there are gods for each branch of gambling. There is a football god who obviously decided to smile on me, and there is a poker god who decided to shaft me with all the enthusiasm of a Bishop at Altar boy school.



You would like to think that in six hours of playing cards you would get one decent hand wouldn’t you? Well to be accurate, two decent hands. I was at one stage dealt an ace high flush about three hours in. 

However the mad Irishman, who, had been gambling like a lunatic, and the other two guys who had won a few quid pick one hand of the evening to all fold after the first three cards are flopped. Tell me gentle reader when do you think this happened?

So, after carefully putting my taxi fare home in my jacket half way through the evening I headed home, potless.

I actually spent all of Sunday lying on my ribs on the couch. In a childish, petulant, huff. Clearly I couldn’t explain to my other half that the reason for my mood was the utter rogering I had taken from the God of card schools so I had to pretend I was hungover.