By LuckyJim

I went for lunch with Sexy Trashy Pseudo Sloane, who's soon to start training as a psychotherapist. She told me I gambled and pursued other vices because I was "empty inside" and "didn't know myself", and I couldn't tackle this until I gave everything up. I said yah, sure, but I just don't fancy it. She said she was an addict herself, but I didn't enquire. Later that day, my perfectly well-balanced Trinidadian colleague claimed to have an addictive personality herself. I couldn't picture it. It's just something people say.

The lawyers here work on contracts governing the construction of power stations in the Middle East. Can there be a duller subject? Worse, they have to fly out at short notice for meetings in Riyadh, Bahrain or Dubai. I said to one of them "Golly, that must be a drag!" He said "Well, you get to put a face to the names you're working with." But why on earth would you want to do that? I suppose the salary softens the blow, but I wouldn't fancy it myself. I don't think I'll be at this firm for more than a month. An agency is putting me forward for a 3pm-11pm word processing contract at another firm. Those hours would suit me better than being at a desk for 9.30am when I've only just gone to bed.

There was another toilet-related incident with my Italian flatmate. One morning I saw a great big shit bobbing in the toilet he'd just vacated. His guilt was undeniable. I laughed into the corridor. "What?" he asked. "It's like a submarine!" I said. "It won't break up!" Well, that's hardly my problem. He went in and somehow got rid of it. Maybe a depth charge did the job - it seemed to work in Das Boot. I told him he'd have killed me if I'd been the culprit. It was the kind of massive unclaimed turd I'm sure you remember finding in the toilets at school. I didn't think they made them like that any more.

It was my brother's birthday this weekend so I took the train back to my parents' house. They believe I'm still not smoking, so I bought some nicotine patches and wore clean clothes. I cycled to the train station to avoid a tedious walk. At the other end this meant three miles along a dark country road. The countryside is so much colder and darker than the city. Even with my lights I couldn't see more than five feet ahead. There aren't many cars, but the drivers go very fast over the brow of the hill and don't expect to see cyclists. At the halfway point my front tire blew as I went over some uneven ground. I cycled the rest of the way with a flat tire, trying my best not to be afraid or steer into the ditch. On Sunday we drove to my brother's house, but the nicotine patches made me nauseous and not on great form. We went for a meal at a gastropub, with typical expensive decor and poor service. When I can't play poker I just eat and drink more; but through my gluttonous fug it felt good to be with my family.

I'm up £175 since my last post, for a total win of £567 since 1st January. I notice I'm not winning as much as I was before Christmas. I haven't been playing much as my money's been eaten up by rent and bills; and when I have been playing I've been squandering most of my winnings. I did have a good session playing on the Gutshot site spinning up my rakeback. But before that, on payday, I had a very close call. Just after midnight I deposited £250 across three sites and lost my way down to just £7.50. Miraculously by 4am I'd clawed most of it back and cashed out £232. That was almost as satisfying as a win.

The next day at the Gutshot I was halfway through a pint when I realised I had a few hundred pounds available. I was too tired to play, so ignoring the cry of "Round of each table, starting now!" I got myself out of the club and into the packed Rainbow Sports Bar. Another pint and a table dance from a girl who said she was Italian-Hungarian. She did a good job of pretending to be interested. Then I went home to virtuous sleep.