LuckyJimm and his Degenerate Adventures

2008-02-08T18:11:00.034Z

This blog covers from August 2007 to January 2008.

After that, I wrote 15 posts between mid-January and May 2008 which appeared as articles on Gutshot.com. The articles are still there in the Articles section, but after a recent site redesign I'm not sure quite where.

My blogs from late May 2008 to January 2011 appeared in that site's blog section. My first post is I Knocked Somebody Down and the last is This ain't a wishing well. Click 'next' to go to the next post.

I hope to resume my blog at some point, but I have either too much or too little to say.

2008-01-21T20:25:00.002Z

So, my blog will now be appearing on the Gutshot site. Thanks for all the insightful comments so many of you have left; and thanks for your support, however undeserved it may have been.

2008-01-15T00:33:00.000Z

Today due to financial necessity I woke at the time I've grown used to going to bed, pulled out my crumpled suit, attempted to tidy my hair, and cycled to some law firm where I'm to work as a temporary secretary. The day started with a happy surprise - I'm to have three days of I.T. training. Three days of being paid £16.50 an hour to drink tea, eat biscuits, and stare out the window while someone tells me how to turn on a computer and open a document. I suppose I might be there a month.

My landlord visited the other day to fix a light switch. He's from New Jersey, I think of Middle Eastern descent, and I asked how he'd found himself in London. He said after being in the paras and working in early computing he'd settled in Majorca in the mid-1960s, where he'd had a wild time, briefly sharing a flat with Mick Jagger and Brian Jones. He used to play in big dealer's choice poker games out there, he said, and if it'd been him with three queens against three jacks rather than the other way round he'd have won a nightclub and his life would have turned out differently. As it is, he ran a publishing company with a woman he went on to marry, then settled in England and started buying property.

He told me about how most of the crew he used to run with in New Jersey had met violent ends. This one guy, he said, drank a bottle of bleach because he thought his wife had left him, when actually she'd just gone to the bank to get money for their holiday. There was another guy who inherited $250,000, ten shops and a share in Meadowlands Racetrack, but lost it all to the Mob and ended his days on $150 a week and the girls gone from his arms.

Boy, can my landlord talk. He said he'd visited 82 countries and his son wanted to write his memoirs. He thought everyone should have a life like he'd had. I think he's too old and too pleased with himself to be able to listen to anything anybody else says, but it was fun hearing his stories.

Meanwhile I've been using my empty credit card to play poker, and though I've not been losing I found to my horror it takes two weeks for me to receive money I've withdrawn. Because of this, several times recently I've been broke to the point of looking hungrily through the cupboards for food left by the last guy who lived here, though I struggled to make a meal from red kidney beans, sweetcorn, ketchup and peppermint tea.

I've enjoyed the last few weeks, however, since I've been making better use of my days and have appreciated not having to be in an office. I feel like I managed to briefly reclaim ownership of my time and my mind. The tedious work I spend much of last year doing for no purpose whatsoever now seems like madness. I've been cycling everywhere, so I suppose am getting a little fitter. I've enjoyed being able to meet friends in the afternoon, and have spent a lot of time in cafes or pizzerias. Have I been idling? No, quite the opposite - it's been time well spent.

There has been an exciting development concerning the future of this blog. I was taken for lunch by Barry Martin of the Gutshot club, who put to me an attractive proposition. So from the end of the week my blog as well as other articles I'll write will appear at http://www.gutshot.com/. This last month I've been visiting the club regularly since it's near where I'm now living. I've not been playing in their live games, but I hang out and also use their computers to play on their Prima skin. I know a lot of people there and enjoy being amongst fellow degenerates - some much worse than me! But more about that later.

2008-01-08T15:09:00.000Z

On New Year's Day I went to see a Neapolitan DJ friend play in the main room at one of the best nightclubs in London. It was a minimal techno night put on by the Ibiza club where he has a residency. The night before he'd played in Valencia, and on the 5th he'd be in Milan.

I arrived before midnight and was on the guest list. I found it a shock to go from playing poker in silence in my room to fighting my way through beautiful people in a crowded club. A few other Italians turned up and we hung out in the VIP bar until he arrived and, at 2am, started to play. The people behind him in the DJ booth were snorting lines of coke from a record sleeve, but he was doing something much more rebellious. Oblivious to the recent ban, he was smoking.

Later in the week I was to meet him and his girlfriend at a club near where I live after midnight, but I couldn't get in. They said they were only letting in mixed groups, not guys on their own, and anyway the club was full. But I didn't worry - queues disappear and bouncers fall back when my friend turns up. One quick phonecall and we were inside. We stood by the DJ booth and looked onto the dancefloor. He and his girlfriend danced with a perfect balance between enthusiasm and restraint, whilst I nodded my head arhythmically.

We first met ten years ago when we were both 19. He spoke fluent English, and even had an English sense of humour. Even then, he was making his name as a DJ, had released a few records, set up a label, and had his own recording studio, though he slept in the next room. He's from a well-off family, which freed him from the pressure of conventional work, but his success comes from his own talent and unwavering application.

The year he left London, I stayed with him for three weeks in Naples, and again for a fortnight the year after. I did what he did, went where he went, made friends with his friends, was treated as family by his family. The first trip we went everywhere by scooter, me clinging on for dear life; later, he got a BMW. The first two times, he lived with his aunt, who delighted in feeding me enormous plates of home-made lasagne. Later he got his own apartment round the corner. These trips were the best days of my life. It felt like an awakening - so this is what it means to be happy! I was radiating in someone else's glamour, but the experiences became part of my life, too. I went back to Naples for shorter periods in the following years, joined him in Amsterdam when he had a Dutch girlfriend, and also visited him when he moved to Barcelona.

I remember staying with him in 2003 when my drinking was out of control, two weeks before I got myself to AA, and once he'd left me at the airport I cried my first adult tears, weeping all the way through check-in. I didn't want to go back to my life. Six months later, sobered up, we spent New Year's Eve together. Accompanied by an American girl he'd picked up in Barcelona, we drove from Naples to an enormous villa in Florence, packed with oil paintings and overlooking olive groves, which belonged to a girl from a thousand-year old Tuscan aristocratic family whose name you'll find on many Venetian palazzos. We met some other people and that night we went to a lavish (though rather dull) villa party up in the hills. Since I wasn't drinking I spent much of the party playing with an Afghan Hound.

At 4am we drove back into Florence and went to a minimal techno club. Just before breakfast we drove to the aristocratic girl's family castle, which was at the entrance to a small Tuscan town at the end of a cypress-tree lined road celebrated by the poet Carducci. This great adventure was a normal couple of days for him. Notice how throughout this post I drop names and seem obsessed with status. This is because I have no status, whereas to him such things seem unremarkable.

It is perhaps pertinent to note how our fortunes have differed. He has had great success, and deservedly so. My failures have been equally well-deserved. While I've lost myself in petty addictions, cigarettes are his only vice. He'll have one or two drinks, perhaps a couple of lines, but is not interested in excess. A true hedonist, he's spent the last ten years travelling round the world from Bogota to Seoul to New York eating the best food, sleeping with the most beautiful women (and also having serious relationships), going to the best parties, earning a lot of money, and making an unimaginable number of friends, while staying true to his family and friends back in Naples. He makes life look easy.

Last week was the first time I'd seen him in two years. I'd held off seeing him because I was ashamed of how far I'd fallen, and how little I've been able to apply what I've seen of how he lives. He has respect for himself, for his friends, for his family. He doesn't get distracted from who he is and what he should be doing. He has succeeded for all the reasons I've failed. Frankly I'm delighted that we're still in touch. He's told me in the past that I'm his best English friend, so there must be something I offer him in return. Perhaps he likes my sense of humour. Or maybe he just hasn't met many Englishmen.

2008-01-04T12:24:00.000Z

I'm up £360 since my last post, but it ought to be twice that. I deposited $40 to PartyPoker, got up to $400 at a $0.50/$1 then sat at $3/$6. I got up to $750 but was too greedy to leave, and lost a $1155 pot with my KJ98 versus his KJT9 on a KJ5 rainbow flop, with a grotesque Q on the river. A nasty beat, but I should have waited for a better spot.

I've made no effort to find a job, and haven't been in an office since 14th December. I've spent most of my time playing poker whilst smoking in bed. And so each day passes.

2007-12-31T16:44:00.000Z

I had a lovely Christmas and was reminded of the importance of my family and the worthlessness of everything else.

I returned to London on the 27th and have done little since then, except for losing about £320.

I will make a great many resolutions tomorrow.

2007-12-23T20:51:00.000Z

Christmas shopping yesterday accompanied by a friend, we found ourselves caught in Oxford Street's madding crowd and fought our way through the department store Selfridges, whose founder Harry Selfridge reduced himself to penury through gambling and fast women. This store always makes me feel unfashionable and alienated, and tells me that the only way I can feel better is through credit card therapy. I can patch my wounds with designer labels.

A few nights recently I've bought myself a bottle of Bordeaux to drink at home. I am, as I write this, near the end of a bottle of Chateau Le Boscq 2003 which was the best the local Co-Op has to offer. In my alcoholic early twenties, before I ever gambled, this was my way of feeling normal. A bottle of red and I would be woozily contented, at peace with myself. That was how I wanted to feel all of the time; but then the second bottle and a darker place.

Meanwhile I've bought books by Borges and Runyon, David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest and, rather optimistically, one called "The 4-Hour Workweek: Escape 9-5, Live Anywhere and Join the New Rich". Well, wouldn't that be nice? I know, at least, that in 2008 I must try to find more interesting ways to earn money than being a reluctant legal secretary. What use earning £400 a week if it requires the sacrifice of my mind as well as my time? I would rather be writing or even tutoring. I am thinking to apply for a year-long MA in Journalism from next autumn.

I have won at poker on four of the last five days. I'm up £655 since my last post having played no higher than $0.50/$1. My best result was sitting at a table with $60 and leaving it with $740. Setting £50 a day deposit limits on each site seems to have worked. I've paid January's rent ten days early.

Tomorrow I return to my parents, leaving my laptop behind for a few days without poker. On Christmas Eve I will visit a pub in the small town where I went to school for the annual ritual of mingling with people I didn't like then and don't like now. On such occasions, alcohol will be a blessed relief.

2007-12-19T18:19:00.000Z

This afternoon I went to see my friend at his vintage clothes store off Brick Lane. He introduced me to his new assistant, a well-spoken bob-haired girl in her early 20s. When he went next door and left me alone with her, I nervously went to the back of the store and pretended to be interested in leather jackets, whilst eating a beigel and trying not to get mayonnaise on my chin. Realising my friend would be away a while, I took the brave step of talking to her. I was glad I did - we had a nice conversation. Talking to girls isn't that difficult, or needn't be.

I was in a good mood. I had my towel and trunks on me and was finally going to go swimming. I walked back to the beigel shop on Brick Lane where I'd locked up my bike. It had been knocked to the ground. Fine. I picked it up. But oh no, the front wheel was buckled! Somebody must have stamped it, some feral yobbo.

I didn't have the money on me to take it back to the bike shop. I found if I undid the front brake, the badly warped wheel would just about turn, though the bent part banged into the frame on every rotation. If I went fast enough it was just about rideable. I cycled dangerously to the pool, more out of spite than anything.

A Neapolitan friend of mine had his BMX stolen from outside his flat on a council estate in, of all places, South Kensington. A few weeks later he saw one of the local ruffians riding around on it. He didn't think it worth asking for it back. Had this happened in Naples, he said, he'd have been able to go to the neighbourhood Camorra boss who'd have it dealt with. What a pity one can't do that here, he said.

That may be how they do things in Naples, but here the judicial system should be enough, although stronger sentences are needed. I believe that for a first offence of stealing or vandalising a bike, the miscreant's arms should be hacked off at the shoulders, and their eyes put out with a blow torch.

Repeat offences, of course, would be dealt with much more seriously.

2007-12-19T13:41:00.000Z

I'm not very good at being unemployed. I don't use my time productively; I sink into indolence. Typically I'll wake mid-morning and spend the day playing poker or railbirding, going outside only to buy a newspaper, cigarettes, milk, and to put money into my poker account at the bookies. About the most productive thing I've done is tidy my room, and delete lots of old emails.

I'm suffering from no longer being fed at work. Quite a few days I've eaten nothing but breakfast cereal till about 8pm, before being sufficiently hungry to cycle to a nearby fast food chicken place. I suppose I ought to go and buy some food. There is a greengrocers nearby where I could buy all manner of healthy stuff.; or else I may die of consumption before December is out.

Relations with my flatmates have, at least, returned to normal.

I think I'm down £180 since my last post. About a third of the time I've been playing well, and badly the rest. I've made some horrible calls and taken some horrible beats. I'm not too bothered about it. On Friday I'll be able to pay rent till the end of January, and have £500 left over.

I've been three times to the Gutshot this last week - I'll write more about that later.

2007-12-15T16:42:00.000Z

Since midnight last night I've had a great run, playing my absolute best. For once I've been patient, controlled, a predator awaiting his prey, and if you saw the hands I'd passed you'd be awfully proud of me. I played mostly at $0.50/$1 and cashed out constantly. This is the tally:

Party: £15 deposited and lost - rigged, obv.
Prima: $100 deposited, $500 withdrawn
Betfred: £50 deposited, £250 withdrawn
William Hill: £25 deposited, £200 withdrawn

This £560 win is much-needed now I've rejoined the nation's jobless!

2007-12-14T15:15:00.000Z

I took Wednesday evening off work and went to the Sartorial Gallery in Notting Hill for the launch of The Rebel magazine, the first issue of which is themed around class. A camp young man with backcombed hair and eyeliner wearing a silver jumpsuit sang In Every Dream Home a Heartache and other heavenly songs, accompanied by a harp, an accordion, and two dancing girls with whitened faces and Marie Antoinette wigs.

The space was very hot and heaving with people, but I was sweating and anxious at the late arrival of my friends. I raced out to buy a packet of cigarettes, my first in a week. Nicotine patches, don't fail me now! Oh well. I did later find myself declining a sixth or seventh glass of white wine on the grounds of being drunk enough already. What discipline!

I have had a couple of enjoyable lunches, but otherwise haven't been going out. I've not spoken to my flatmates since Sunday, and am in no particular rush to make up. I've been getting home at 10.30pm and going straight to my room, where I play poker or railbird until I'm finally exhausted enough to sleep till midday. I briefly considered finding a new flat - wouldn't I rather live with artists or grad students than nitty 9-5ers? But I am sure inertia will keep me here.

Last night I had £870 clear in my bank account. By 5am I had tilted off £230 across four sites, paid a £30 bank charge, sent £150 to my Mum and £300 to a friend to look after, and taken out £150 from an ATM. That left enough for a month's subscription to OnlyBlowJob.com and then my account was empty again. I have another £120 in withdrawals arriving tomorrow, however.

This morning I hailed a racist taxi driver to take me to Brick Lane Bikes. He spent the short journey telling me how he had moved to Essex from the East End where he'd been brought up, because he didn't like "all the Muslims murdering people." He particularly had it in for Somalians and Bangladeshis. These stabbings and shootings wouldn't have happened thirty years ago, before the immigrants came, he said. He was looking to move to Spain as soon as he could. He didn't like the way this country was heading. Ah, the oppressed white working classes! Did he give this speech to everybody? I'd like to say I made the liberal gesture of commanding him to stop the taxi and declaring I would make my journey by alternative means. But beyond telling him I thought he was being unfair, and it was nothing to do with "Muslims", I didn't pursue it further. I just wanted to get to the bike shop.

My bike was fixed in just over an hour at a cost of £90. I spent this time at a friend's vintage clothes store off Brick Lane, stopping off to pick up beigels and coffee. We talked about the necessity of keeping poker money separate from living money. Even if I don't want to keep my bankroll online, I need it to be clearly distinguished from my wages. This can be done by having a bank account or a credit card (kept in credit) which are used just for poker. I must start doing this!

Today is my last day at work. Yesterday they gave me £100 in gift vouchers which can be spent as if they were cash at most high street stores. All permanent employees receive them, and I was pleased to be included. I'm not planning to work again until the new year - or, at least, I wasn't until I lost all that money last night. Well, time for another spin-up...

2007-12-11T14:56:00.000Z

I'm up £400 overnight from $0.50/$1. I had the absolute sickest run on William Hill, turning $80 to $1000 in seven hands which took place in just over an hour at a table. I won every pot and was invincible, feverish, gibbering, delirious, as if having a manic depressive episode. Having wiped out the table I withdrew most of the money, and fortunately my newly-imposed deposit limits stopped me from tilting this win into a loss. I hope these limits will mean I play more carefully, and even if I don't I'll not go broke in a single day. Here's the final tally:

William Hill:
Deposited £50, got to £537.53. Withdrew £437.53, lost the rest.

Betfred:
Deposited £50, withdrew £47 without playing much.

PartyPoker:
Deposited £50, got to £130, lost it all without withdrawing.

Big Slick:
Deposited £12.50, got to £120, lost it all without withdrawing.
Deposited £25, got to £103, money still in my account.

Still, I need more to my life than the non-drama of winning and losing money. I am seriously thinking of giving up railbirding, the number one biggest waste of my time. Whenever I am at home, I am on the computer railbirding medium and high stakes PLO games. I learn little and it's just dead time. I deeply regret that I rarely read a book. The railing has to stop.

I gave up smoking again on Friday, sticking on a medium-strength nicotine patch. My method is to use patches for the first week (accepting the nausea and vividly twisted dreams as inescapable side effects), then switch over to reading Allan Carr. I fully buy into his argument that smoking gives no pleasure, and does none of the things smokers think it does. I just need help getting over the "little monster" of physical nicotine addiction before I can allow myself to accept how stupid it is. I forgot to put on a patch today so I'm feeling very edgy, but not at risk of smoking.

In other news, my housemates both hate me already. The Frenchman is not especially friendly anyway, but is annoyed at various liberties I've taken and was decidedly cold last night. When I'd lived in this flat before, last year, I'd been good friends with the Italian. We got on all the better when we weren't living together. Unfortunately he is very cranky about cleaning, and has told me off about all manner of things, some justified and others not. I suggested to him that he was "psychotic", in one moment friendly and relaxed, at the next aggressive and extremely rude. I'd obviously struck a nerve, since he apologised and said yes, he was psychotic - he just got very angry when he found things hadn't been done. After living at home and before that living in a house with a cleaner, I suppose I am out of practice, and ought to do more, if only to keep the peace.

I didn't go out with him on Saturday night as I was feeling unwell. I had a bad cold over the weekend and yesterday. Funny how all the nasty side effects of smoking - the coughing, the sore throat - only hit you when you stop. I went for Sunday lunch in Kew with my parents and the middle-aged couple I used to live with in West London. I struggled through, feeling determinedly groggy, a combination of streaming cold, paracetamol, champagne and red wine not helping me stay awake. I let them talk amongst themselves. They've met once before and have plenty of shared interests and opinions. Thankfully they found better things to talk about than whether or not I'm still gambling.

There were some fantastic comments left on my blog last week. I will address them later.

2007-12-08T15:01:00.000Z

In the taxi home from work I had a group text from the girl who's haunted this blog, inviting me to her Christmas party. Her flat is less than ten minutes from mine. The last time I heard from her was an invite to her birthday party earlier in the year. Then, as now, I didn't reply. She should have deleted me from her phone.

Last November, having for years pretended to be happy with friendship, I drunkenly told her "it's still you." In her dignified silence I knew it was hopeless. I wanted to know everything about her, and for once was genuinely interested in another person. I enjoyed her company more than anyone I'd ever met. How funny, honest and true our conversations were, how screamingly obviously suited we were. But she didn't see it.

I thought I was good enough for her, or could be. But even if I was to become an idealised version of myself, slim, successful, paid to write, my life full of people, she'd not want to be part of it. And so long as I defined happiness as being with her, I could never be happy. We lost contact by unspoken mutual agreement after one more meeting. The last words were swapping greetings on New Year's Day. I don't think of her that often.

Losing touch with her was, I suppose, self-preservation. I have taken some steps this week to help myself. I paid my rent on Wednesday, and when I phoned the landlord (who, for some reason, is American) he was fine. "It happens". On payday I repaid a £215 loan to a kind 2+2er.

At the law firm the nice ladies I work alongside were mystified to hear I was leaving. I saw in their reaction only genuine surprise. They couldn't think why I wasn't being offered the job. I asked, just to make sure, if they'd made any comment about my work to the daytime supervisor with overall control. They said "No, we don't think like that. We're mums." They came in, did their work, and didn't pay attention to what I was doing. I said I thought since we worked the busiest shift in a small department, it made sense for them to get someone with more experience. But they thought I was doing well, both in terms of my speed and the range of things I was doing. I am sorry to go, whatever the reason for my departure may be.

Anyway, I spoke to my recruitment agency, and they said I'd have first refusal on any new bookings. I'm sure I won't be out of work.

I haven't had my bike fixed yet, but I collected from the underground car park the bike I'd abandoned there in the autumn which I'd been given by a friend who had rescued it from a skip. The back tire is completely flat, the handlebars are loose, won't stay tightened and swing to the right; the saddle is ripped. I cycled dangerously home without lights or helmet.

Then at 1am on Friday I saw an upended, abandoned mountain bike by a pile of rubbish a few minutes from my house. There was no front wheel. The back wheel was on the ground next to it, but without tire or tubes. It wasn't an expensive bike, but could be fixed. I took it home.

I haven't seen anything of my friends, but tonight I've agreed to accompany my Italian housemate to a gypsy folk club in London Bridge tonight. I must watch the Hatton/Mayweather fight, though, and if they're not showing it (he says they might be), I'll leave for somewhere that is.

As for the poker, to try to prevent myself losing large sums in future I've put £50 a day maximum deposit limits on my Betfred, Big Slick and William Hill accounts. I discovered these sites allow me to withdraw funds back onto my £400-limit Mastercard, so using this card I can finally separate poker from living money. Betfred have finally removed my chat, so now I will tilt less, too.

Last night I deposited £20 to PartyPoker at 10.30pm, and at 6.30am cashed out £300 from a nice tilt-free run at $0.25/$0.50 and $0.50/$1 ten-max. I'd lost on other sites on earlier days, however, so in sum I'm up £105 since my last post.

2007-12-04T14:47:00.000Z

Over the course of Friday through 2+2 I managed to find three people who'd lend me most of the money to cover my rent, which was unexpected and for which I was enormously grateful. I felt more comfortable borrowing from fellow gamblers than any of my "straight" friends. So, having lost everything on Friday morning, I went home knowing I had $250 in my Full Tilt account and £240 in Neteller. I won around £190, playing in the lounge alongside my housemates who were watching The Hustler. I withdrew the money to hit my bank account today.

I had no cash so passed a miserable weekend in my flat railing PLO games, Dombey & Son sitting accusingly unread on my bookshelf. How tranquil I am when watching others play, how alert to their errors, and how far away the thought of my own tilting frenzied losses. I left the house just once, to buy unhealthy frozen food from Iceland. I had an invitation to an Italian friend's gallery party, but I didn't go since it was a long way away and I couldn't have bought my own drinks.

On Monday I had lunch with a schoolfriend, who on hearing how much I'd lost asked "Why don't you just give up?".

Today, having been accosted by my flatmate while half-asleep for not having cleaned the bathroom to his satisfaction, I was unhappily surprised to see not all my withdrawals had gone through, so I still couldn't pay my rent. The bulk of the money I suppose will come tomorrow. I haven't phoned the landlord to explain myself - perhaps I should? Still, I felt I could afford to deposit £25. I got this up to £60, withdrew half of it, and lost the rest in a disgusting manner.

I phoned up a Brick Lane bike shop to enquire about buying a new back wheel, since it's crucial I get my bike working again. I was just about to take them the bike when the post came. My new credit card.

I had a look at the PLO tables, and to my delight saw a maniac at $1/$2 who I'd lost to the other day. I deposited £100, which I lost with my 58xx on a 467 flop, outdrawn by his 89Tx. After Friday's loss I'd told Betfred to put a £200 daily deposit limit on my account, so I was only able to deposit another £75. I lost this, I forget how. I was steaming, I wanted revenge. I was the better player - surely I deserved to win? And other such palpably false nonsense.

When I reach for my Visa and put money online, what happens is nothing to do with bankroll management. It is like the alcoholic taking his first drink or the drug addict his first line. Sleep or worldly commitments won't tear me away. The binge won't end until it's all gone.

I opened up Big Slick, another iPoker skin, and deposited £200 which with the card's £400 limit was about all I could do. I lost that pretty quickly through terrible play. The maniac had beaten me again.

So, a £370 loss and my rent still isn't paid. Soon I will be out of a job, too. Yesterday I asked my boss if she'd had any feedback on my performance, and if I might go on contract. Her answer was loudly hesitant. Today the head of personnel phoned, asking me to join her in five minutes in a meeting room full of boxes, giving me time to quickly change from smart brown trousers into my suit. Straight away she told me they'd decided I wasn't right for the job, and they were interviewing people tomorrow. Would I be interested if a secretarial role came up elsewhere in the firm? What were my long-term career plans? Oh, and I ought to phone my agency, in case the new recruit wanted to start immediately. My eyes glazed over and I couldn't focus. How I hated this loathsome woman! I had tried fairly hard in this job. Perhaps it was my insistence on changing the radio station each evening from the unlistenable Heart to the more tolerable Smooth FM.

How quickly everything has gone wrong! Yet to have to return to my parents again and admit I'd got in trouble through gambling would be unthinkable.

I just stumbled upon a draft email written last year to the girl I was in love with, in which I said:

"The plan is I get another 4-6 month contract, save up, then spend three-four months in Naples taking part-time Italian classes, and maybe trying to teach English too. It's too long since I was there, and by being away I feel I'm neglecting something I love deeply and which connects to the core of who I am, have been, or want to be. Funny how you can feel like that about a place."

Whatever happened to that? I never sent it.

2007-11-30T12:01:00.000Z

Losing today's rent money was not a good idea. By breakfast without going higher than $1/$2 I'd lost £400 I could just about afford to lose, through bad play and beats. Having phoned the landlord yesterday for his bank details, I tried to transfer him the £450, only for the online banking website to say because of a new security measure I first needed a pin service card, which they would send me in the post.

I foolishly made a small deposit, in the knowledge that I have an £88 withdrawal coming through tomorrow. When I lost that, I deposited again, telling myself I would win, withdraw, and pay my rent a few days late on Tuesday, telling the landlord about the pin card as my excuse. Although what would have stopped me from depositing the money again on Tuesday, I don't know. I kept on depositing and losing.

Finally, I have lost £815. Looking at PokerTracker, I lost on 14 of the 15 tables on which I played, and "won" $26.97 on the other one. I did not cash out even once - paralysed by the thought of how much I had already lost, I forgot that I would best recover my losses by withdrawing incrementally, not in one go. I have just £40 in the bank which I need to live on. My rent, which I said I'd pay today, is £450. Five minutes ago I had $550 on a $2/$4 table but it's now gone.

I ordered a replacement credit card recently for one with a £400 limit. The pin came today, forwarded by my mother. The card should come early next week, so I may potentially be able to use that.

This is the biggest disaster since the last big disaster! And so utterly unnecessary. So in my first few weeks back in London I've lost all my money, broken my bike, on which I'm utterly dependent, and failed to go swimming more than once

Oh, and I started smoking again.

2007-11-28T17:05:00.000Z

I had a perfect session last night playing from 10.30pm to 3.30am at the 24 hour Internet cafe in Central London. I deposited £62 and withdrew £392 for a win of £330. I didn't play higher than $0.50/$1, either.

When I walked in, the poker player I'd talked to the day before was asleep in the corner. When I spoke to him later, he told me he'd been there two days. He was waiting, he said, for a tournament. And for Godot, I suppose.

I sat at the back, and noticed the man sitting in the corner next to me was watching porn films. Another man was looking at escort websites; someone else was on Gaydar.

Around 2am a stout, cheaply dressed, gel-haired young Englishman with a cheap plastic sports bag started shouting at the middle-aged lank-haired semi-destitute Pole sitting next to him, telling him not to look at his screen. He was pushing, shoving, and yelling in a high-pitched, chippy, common voice. He asked the Pole to come outside to fight, then pushed his chair so he fell over hard onto his back.

The young Turkish man from the front desk came over and stood between them, and tried to escort the English thug out of the door but he refused to leave, demanding a refund. He said "Go on, call Old Bill if you want", and I guessed he was and would continue to be no stranger to the inside of a police cell. I walked over to watch and so did all the other guys, forming a scrum at the front of the store.

The Polish man was hiding behind the counter, protected by the store owners from the English thug. I missed what happened for a fraction of a second. Suddenly the English man was curled up on the floor and the Turkish man, no doubt being from the fighting class himself, had lifted a large metal stool above his head and was about to bring it down onto the thug's thick head. I felt my heart race and desperately wanted him to do it, but his colleague held him back. The English thug got up, and I saw blood on the bridge of his nose. He said he'd call the police himself. The Turkish man, wielding a three-foot steel pipe he'd picked up from behind the counter, called the Englishman a "little dick" and invited him to come and have a fight. Golly, what fun!

The English thug finally was convinced to go outside, and he paced outside shouting, telling us "You've got weapons? I've got weapons too" - though I guessed his cheap sports bag contained nothing more than packed lunch and P.E. kit - and said he would be waiting for the Turk when his shift finished. I found myself telling the thug to get lost, and that he started it. Someone else observed there were thirty witnesses who'd speak against him. Finally we saw him get on a bus, shaking his impotent fist through the window.

Fifteen minutes later two policewomen arrived, called by the thug or the store-owner I'm not sure. To everyone's amusement as they walked to the back of the store the man in the corner unplugged his headphones and we heard a loud pornographic UH - UH - OH - YES - YES. The policewomen interviewed the Pole, but there wasn't much they could do.

An amusing night!

2007-11-27T16:15:00.000Z

On Saturday I played a little, depositing a tenner at the bookies, banking a win of £20. I had lunch at a new cafe within walking distance of my flat - Olive, at 120 Hoxton Street. A large, unflashy but good Margherita costs just £2.99. In the evening I met with an artist friend for a couple of pints locally, and then we went in to Soho for falafel on Old Compton Street and then coffee at the Curzon cinema bar. My housemate invited me to join him with friends at a bar not far from our flat, but I was tired so slept instead. But how good it is to have the city's nightlife on my door, after months of isolation!

On Sunday my housemate and I walked round the Columbia Road flower market, picking up many bunches of unsold flowers the stallholders give away at the end of the day. Then we had pizza at the nearby Spring Ray Globe Cafe. I had a Margherita again, the benchmark for assessing pizzerias. It was very good, as good as can be without a wood-fired oven.

We still don't have working Internet in the flat. Last night after watching The Long Good Friday with my housemates, at 1.30am I cycled to an Internet cafe which charges just 50p an hour and is open all night- the cheapest hotel in London! My withdrawals didn't hit my bank account until 3.30am, so I passed the time railbirding, reading 2+2 and watching music videos on Youtube. I played for four hours and banked a £230 win from playing $1/$2. I also found myself talking to a fellow poker player I always see in there who recognised me from the Gutshot. I've yet to go back to that poker club, but am thinking of it - not to play, just to see people.

I had left my bike locked to a lamp post near the road, and to my horror when I went to unlock it, I saw the back wheel was completely crushed. The bike had fallen or been pushed into the road, where clearly a bus had run it over. I thought I would have no luck persuading a taxi driver to take me and my shattered bike back home. Fortunately, and to my surprise, after fifteen minutes when an empty cab finally drove past, the kindly cabbie agreed without question to let me put my bike in the cab, and he even refused my offer of an extra fiver. I'll try to get a new wheel tomorrow, though it may cost more than the bike is worth, because I love the adrenaline rush and convenience of cycling through central London, and not having to spend anything on transport.

My life is better than it's been in some time. I'm earning good money, with minimal necessary expenditure. I earn my monthly rent in a week, and I get fed at work. I'm living with people I like and can hang out with. And, crucially, I'm living in a good area, Shoreditch. Here's what Wikipedia says about it:

"Since post-war decline, Shoreditch has risen up to become a popular and fashionable part of London. Often combined with neighbouring Hoxton, the area has been subject to considerable gentrification in the past twenty years, with accompanying rises in property prices.

A former citadel of the working classes, Shoreditch and Hoxton have been colonised by Boho yuppies and the artistic set who have turned former furniture warehouses into loft apartments and made Hoxton Square the centre of contemporary bohemia. Curtain Road and Old Street are notable for their clubs and pubs which offer a variety of venues to rival those of the West End.

Art galleries, bars, restaurants, media businesses, the building of the Hackney Community College campus and SPACe Sports Centre and an urban golf club are further features of this transformation. To the north, east and south, however urban dereliction reigns and a predatory underclass continues the traditions of criminality pursued by their ancestors (Harrison: 1985; [1]). Other traditions of working class entertainment survive on Shoreditch High Street where the music halls of yesteryear have been replaced by the greatest concentration of striptease venues in London."

I've lived here a couple of times in the past. Why did I ever leave?

2007-11-24T00:24:00.000Z

Friday night, in the same net cafe having come straight from work. I deposited my last £20 till my withdrawals come through next week, spun it up to £109. Withdrew the £9. Sat at a $1/$2 table, flopped the nut house, got it all in against an idiot with trips who hit his three-outer for a $380 pot.

I hate this game so much sometimes - you play patiently for hours and work hard to set up a player, and then the game rewards their retardedness. I am snapped out of the gambling trance, but I'm still feeling wired. But I've no more money so I can't play any more. I've nothing to do but cycle home - on the radio they said it's minus three degrees outside - although I'm not tired and won't be able to sleep. The Internet connection in the flat is still down, so I'll be staring at the walls.

2007-11-23T03:28:00.001Z

In net cafe again, where in three hours I turned a £180 win into a £75 loss. I lose 80% of the time I play in Internet cafes. Something to do with not getting up and travelling home until the money's all gone.

2007-11-22T22:09:00.000Z

Ah, it's great to be back in London! Yesterday morning I cycled to a cafe in Shoreditch, had a fried breakfast and read the newspaper. By 9.30am I was playing poker in a nearby web cafe, since the Internet in my new flat is down at present. The first hand saw me win £140, but I had lost that and another £230 by the time I left.

For midday I returned to the empty flat, picked up my swimming gear and cycled to a nearby pool. How amazing it felt to be swimming again, and what little excuse I now have to go every day. Regular swimming is the single easiest best thing I can do to increase my quality of life. I must become addicted to it. How much fun it was - yet I could have gone 140 times for the money I'd lost earlier.

I cycled to work for 2.30pm, stocking up on sandwiches from the canteen and dashing into Barclays to pay in my last £30. My job is quiet until 5.30, since before then the lawyers give their work to their secretaries. This gives me a few hours to surf the Internet. 5.30 to 10.30 is very busy, but I work at my own pace. I am working alongside one, two or three others, all middle-aged ladies, firm veterans of ten or twenty years. We have the radio on. Last night I got them to tune it to Five Live so we could hear the football. At 7.30 I enjoy a half-hour break where each day I'm given a big free hot meal in the canteen. As well as saving me money and meaning however broke I get I'll never go hungry, it also means I eat better food than I would of my own accord.

After work I cycled in the fierce rain to a 24 hour Internet cafe in central London to play more poker. I deposited the £30, lost most of it in the first five minutes, and ground my way back. Another £15 cleared in my account at midnight and I deposited that too. While playing I watched music videos on Youtube - miserable songs I remembered from my past, by artists like Arab Strap, Malcolm Middleton, Bonnie Prince Billy, the Tindersticks, and so on. City Sickness. I never won much money, and at 2.30am I lost a $250 pot all-in preflop pot with my aces versus his which made two pair on the river. This brought my total losses to the day to £275. I was home for about 3am, and tried t be quiet since my flatmates are already displaying alarming sensitivity to my making noise at night, which will be a problem considering my planned nocturnal lifestyle.

My total results from 1 November to 22 November currently stand at -£211 - so, I've not been getting anywhere. I think this is largely to do with not being able to play on my laptop. Also since I've spent so much money recently, I don't have the ability to reload.

So, this life gives me a lot of freedom for indulging my vices, but since I'm always working in the evenings could well ensure my continued social isolation. I'm free to meet people for lunch, at least. On Tuesday, I met with an Italian friend for coffee before work and discussed a photographic project of his for which he wants me to write the captions. I just have to work hard to find social uses for my late nights and mornings. We'll see if I manage.

2007-11-16T15:01:00.001Z

I won £194 this morning at $0.50/$1 and $1/$2. I hope to have the discipline to stick to these limits a good long while. There's just no need for me to play higher; so much can be won here.

I just paid £670 to the guy whose room I'm taking to cover a month's deposit and two week's rent. I'm moving in tomorrow, so tonight is my last night living with my parents. Adulthood, here I come!

2007-11-15T10:14:00.000Z

On Saturday I'm moving back to my old flat in Shoreditch. The rent is £450 a month which I can pay with one week's wages. I'll be able to go swimming in the mornings, or easily meet up with friends. I'll be able to cycle to work, and feasibly go to the area's bars and clubs after I finish at 10.30pm. I'm good friends with the Italian who lives in the flat, and get on cordially with the Frenchman. I lived there for six months before, renting the room of an actor while he was away. He's now leaving for good. I'm glad to be able to move back - my life will improve in so many ways. I'm doing my best to be enthusiastic and charming at work, so they will allow me to stick around.

Moving back to London also means I'll be able to play poker at night without guilt. Sadly I'm down £220 over the last two days. I just lost a $960 pot at 1/2 where I was 63.5% favourite on the flop and 77.5% on the turn when the last money went in. I had top set versus his top two, overpair and third-best flush draw which hit on the river. I'd really set the hand up perfectly and was hoping to stack him, but instead his weak hand and poor play was rewarded. Such a nuisance when this happens. Still, no disaster: I'm currently -£62.63 for November, so I'm not actually losing much money.

2007-11-13T20:44:00.000Z

I won £262 at $0.50/$1 and $1/$2 playing at home overnight (since my parents are abroad). The best run I had was on a $1/$2 table where I sat with $168 and left with $890.Saturday's loss is now reduced to £681.

More good news: I may be able to move back into my old flat in Shoreditch, since a room's coming free. I'll find out for certain in the next few days.

2007-11-12T15:29:00.000Z

My stay in Paris continued enjoyably. On Sunday we went round Musee Orsay, where I'd particularly wanted to see the Van Gogh room. Afterwards to escape the rain we went to the cinema in St. Germain. Then we went to see the Eiffel Tower, pushing our way through dozens of African vendors of fluorescent replica statues. Curiously it is most impressive viewed from underneath. Its base looks like a fat lady's bottom.

Late last night my friend, who one day will be a very rich and successful corporate lawyer but at present is still studying, said he didn't have any money, so I insisted on taking him out. He had veal; I had steak, again, washed down with a bottle of Bordeaux and with a cheese board to follow.

I caught the Eurostar this morning and am now back at my desk in London.

It was great for me to spend money on experiences, rather than just using it to gamble for increasingly higher stakes. I feel quite sick over the amount I lost the other morning. The grand I lost wipes out my profit for the month. Still, I hope I can recover my composure and win it back. Here are my total results for the last few months:

November 1st to 12th: -£105.26
October: +£1995.61
September: +£423.26
August 10th to 31st: -£411.53

Total = +£1902.08

In the last week I found myself playing $3/$6, $5/$10 and even some hands at $10/$20. How very stupid of me, when I can make a comfortable sum for less risk at lower limits. So now I will try to stick to $1/$2 for a couple of weeks. I am not sure I will be able to stay away from $2/$4, though, if there is an especially soft lineup.

2007-11-11T09:45:00.000Z

We had lunch yesterday in a small restaurant in Montmartre. A large rare steak, a half litre of Bordeaux in an old clay jug, and my losses were almost forgotten.

We caught the subway and after cakes at Le Notre walked to Parc Monceau where I had my first cigarette in a month. It was disgusting. I smoked another equally disgusting half dozen during the day before throwing away the unwisely-bought packet.

In the evening we had a Brazilian meal in the fashionable rue Oberkampf district, and then to a bar, accompanied by a dozen of my friend's fellow business school students. How expensive beer is - 6 euros for half a litre! The lesson, I suppose, is that in Paris one must drink only wine. I saw a bottle of supermarket red for 1.40 Euros - golly, I wonder what that tastes like!

In Paris you can rent public bicycles for half an hour for 1 Euro. They are very heavy, solid three-gear bikes. At my friend's suggestion we rented one each and half a dozen of us cycled back from rue Oberkampf to Montmartre. This was great fun. Back in the flat we stayed up talking till 2am.

In the early evening I'd found an Internet cafe in a nearby square and to the sound of a jazz band outside played $1/2 with my last £100. I left with £200, which ought to have been £300 or £400 had I not suffered my worst beat in a long time. I had 8JKK clubs and spades on a 79T club and spades flop, for the nut straight, king spade draw and backdoor clubs. My opponent had JQxx all red. A red king river saw the 460 dollar pot cruelly taken from me.

I played a little this morning and won another £67. That reduces this weekend's loss to a still horrific £943. Oh well, at least it's back to three figures!