News from the front
One more day of wretched poker players. Final table day in Barcelona. It’s about time this bastard tournament was wrapped up so we can all get out of this place.
I woke up with a sore throat and aches today. The sore throat probably comes from intensive smoking over the last few days. Each morning I wake up thinking I have to quit only to find the only way of making it through the day is to smoke like a trooper.
The aches no doubt came from the 75 minute walk from the casino back to the hotel at 5 o’clock this morning. It wasn’t my idea. And the first 15 minutes still held the adventure element to it. But from then on the bags got heavy and the maps came out.
I do try to get a drink at the bar when the ‘must relax’ reflex needs ironing, but all that means is ten minutes waiting at a bar before giving up on being served. Not a crowded bar, one with a couple of people waiting. I did this twice yesterday, once with a new blogger friend who had more staying power than me as I got back to work after ten fruitless minutes. So yes, it turns out I’m invisible in Barcelona.
No time for a walk to find decent coffee today, just the powerful sludge on offer at the café around the corner, sitting next to the house drunk and getting change for yet more cigarettes.
So, one more day. One more day of trying to remember to eat, drink and sit down from time to time. Then I can come home. Not exactly thrilled by the idea of today. But there are just as many people to piss me off here as there are back in London. I should be used to this by now.
I woke up with a sore throat and aches today. The sore throat probably comes from intensive smoking over the last few days. Each morning I wake up thinking I have to quit only to find the only way of making it through the day is to smoke like a trooper.
The aches no doubt came from the 75 minute walk from the casino back to the hotel at 5 o’clock this morning. It wasn’t my idea. And the first 15 minutes still held the adventure element to it. But from then on the bags got heavy and the maps came out.
I do try to get a drink at the bar when the ‘must relax’ reflex needs ironing, but all that means is ten minutes waiting at a bar before giving up on being served. Not a crowded bar, one with a couple of people waiting. I did this twice yesterday, once with a new blogger friend who had more staying power than me as I got back to work after ten fruitless minutes. So yes, it turns out I’m invisible in Barcelona.
No time for a walk to find decent coffee today, just the powerful sludge on offer at the café around the corner, sitting next to the house drunk and getting change for yet more cigarettes.
So, one more day. One more day of trying to remember to eat, drink and sit down from time to time. Then I can come home. Not exactly thrilled by the idea of today. But there are just as many people to piss me off here as there are back in London. I should be used to this by now.
posted by Stephen | 12:58 PM
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