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peterbirksWell, my putative cleaner arrived this morning to look around. Polish, of course, and very nice. She said that she had been in London for four years, but that her English was still not so good, because she shared a house with other Poles.
Friday is looking, er, interesting. Aneta is coming to clean, while I will be producing the newsletters, while at noon the chimney sweep comes to clean not one, but two flues -- one of which has a grate in the office.
Oh, and I have to go into Penge to pick up my car from its service. I'm sure there is a way that all of this can be managed before 5pm. I just haven't quite figured out what it is.
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Although Didier Drogba's impersonation of an imperious Caesar might be considered by some to be the highlight of the Ivory Coast defeat of Guinea, for me the weirdest part of it was the stadium announcer, who appeared to be a woman imported from North Korea. The only time I could recall hearing a voice even slightly similar to this (outside of North Korea, that is) was in Caesar's poker room, very shortly after it opened. There was a room manageress (or announcer -- I'm not sure of the hierarchy there), a CAS (Chinese American Screecher), whose announcements could shatter champagne flutes at a hundred paces. In addition, whatever she said was, to my ears (attuned to most varieties of English), completely incomprehensible.
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I played badly last night, but I made progress. I realized what I was doing wrong. When I get tired, I lapse back into too passive habits. I just throw in money to see a flop with hands that really are marginal minus EV. Or I call a bet on the turn with a marginal top pair because I think that opponent might be on a draw and will give up on the river. Stuff like that.
I came back to the game this morning and this evening with a much more deliberate aggressive frame of mind, and, despite nothing very attractive in terms of flushes, or straights, or sets, I managed to bludgeon my way to a smallish win. Possibly a score-draw in the English fashion of things. So, I await overtime.
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Friday is looking, er, interesting. Aneta is coming to clean, while I will be producing the newsletters, while at noon the chimney sweep comes to clean not one, but two flues -- one of which has a grate in the office.
Oh, and I have to go into Penge to pick up my car from its service. I'm sure there is a way that all of this can be managed before 5pm. I just haven't quite figured out what it is.
+++++++
Although Didier Drogba's impersonation of an imperious Caesar might be considered by some to be the highlight of the Ivory Coast defeat of Guinea, for me the weirdest part of it was the stadium announcer, who appeared to be a woman imported from North Korea. The only time I could recall hearing a voice even slightly similar to this (outside of North Korea, that is) was in Caesar's poker room, very shortly after it opened. There was a room manageress (or announcer -- I'm not sure of the hierarchy there), a CAS (Chinese American Screecher), whose announcements could shatter champagne flutes at a hundred paces. In addition, whatever she said was, to my ears (attuned to most varieties of English), completely incomprehensible.
++++++++
I played badly last night, but I made progress. I realized what I was doing wrong. When I get tired, I lapse back into too passive habits. I just throw in money to see a flop with hands that really are marginal minus EV. Or I call a bet on the turn with a marginal top pair because I think that opponent might be on a draw and will give up on the river. Stuff like that.
I came back to the game this morning and this evening with a much more deliberate aggressive frame of mind, and, despite nothing very attractive in terms of flushes, or straights, or sets, I managed to bludgeon my way to a smallish win. Possibly a score-draw in the English fashion of things. So, I await overtime.
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no subject
Date: 2008-02-03 11:21 pm (UTC)And so begins Pete Birks' entré into the world of hard porn, as the financial world goes tits up and leaves him "sans métier".
Sorry but I am unavailable as a stunt cock.
I'm watching that brawl ball "thang". Is "defensive line" PC Yank-speak for a load of clinically obese blokes?
Reach for the mute! Some warbly voiced type is labouring the anthem. Where's Hendrix when you need him?
no subject
Date: 2008-02-04 12:52 pm (UTC)I turned off after the toss.
The thing is I used to go to all the London Monarchs games when I lived in London and all the Northants Storm games (remember Johnny Atlas? - of course you don't) when up here.
I'll support anything local but Dwight D Dieselburger from Bodiddlyboing Ohidaho may as well be playing for the London Jets at Zero-G Football on Jupiter.
Mind you, cricket is awful. Five-day tests, four-day county games, 60, 50 or 40 limited over games or Twenty20. For God sake, make your mind up!
They should have limited over, two-innings tests over how ever many days it takes to get a result. None of this playing for a draw or hoping it rains nonsense.
I have plenty of rule changes for rugby union too. It's almost a game of tennis between the two full-backs. If the fuggers kick it into touch then bring the ball back to where they kicked from. That'll put a stop to their ways.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-04 10:11 pm (UTC)matt