Day 82
You may (or may not) have noticed that I’ve been neglecting my decorating duties over the past week. This has been for no reasons other than I didn’t really want to do it in the first place and I’m bone-idle (which you will have noticed).
Today I managed to avoid doing it again.
After dropping a few subtle hints about the stacks of holiday brochures that have been littering the house in ever growing piles, I finally gave in and sat down with the current Mrs. Snowman to decide once and for all where to go on holiday.
I un-necessarily dragged the negotiations out for several hours in order to dodge slapping any paint on the walls and did an Oscar winning performance in pretending to look interested.
As usual the mother-in-law elbowed her way into the conversation and contributed her thoughts on where we should go. It seems that she’s keen to hit the shores of southern Spain and stay in Barcelona.
Now, don’t get me wrong, Barcelona is one of my favorite cities in the world and I try to get there for at least a few days every year. It’s a truly beautiful and vibrant place, except of course when the mother-in-law is there at the same time. Come to think of it, any city loses most of its appeal in such a circumstance.
One of her primary reasons for wanting to stay within the confines of Europe was not the bargaining chip she’d hoped for:
“We can’t go too far because we’ll have to find someone to look after the cat”
My suggestion of dropping it off with a local vivisectionist was met by a whack round the back of the head with a rolled up brochure for short breaks in Morocco.
As far as I’m concerned, vacations fall into four categories:
1. Sat round a pool somewhere hot, near a beach, with lots of alcohol.
2. Visiting somewhere beautiful with museums, art galleries and lots of alcohol.
3. Staying somewhere close to a poker tournament with lots of alcohol.
4. Anywhere…with lots of alcohol.
Mrs. Snowman doesn’t completely agree with these sentiments. She’s ok with the parts concerning beaches, pools and hot locations but is strangely in disagreement about the poker and booze.
A compromise had to be reached.
Following some protracted and determined persuasion (a fucking great big argument) it was decided I was allowed the double Southern Comfort with a sea view but had to forego any hint of a casino or poker room.
Through some skilful manipulation and the strategic placement of a few glossy magazines, I managed to push her in the direction of the west coast of Barbados. This is, of course, not as conciliatory as it sounds. I’ve got some friends who live about a mile from the hotel so a set of poker chips is only a phone call away.
Conciliation was not something my opponents showed to me during either of the freerolls today. I managed to reach that last 200 of the first one before being busted out short stacked by trips over two pair. The second one was considerably shorter. Less than five minutes in fact. I’d committed myself with two large bets to try and get my opponent off the pot with a straight draw. Needless to say it didn’t work and I went all-in after making my straight on the turn. I knew I was in trouble after an immediate call and sure enough, he’d already hit his flush.
One of my readers has offered to stake me $20 a week so that I can continue with this diary. I’m very tempted to take him up on this as it will not only mean the journal continues but also I’ll have a legitimate excuse to avoid doing all sorts of tasks around the house. I’ll leave it up to you guys to let me know if you think I should do this or not.
Moving briefly back to the matter of our vacation, there is a final point that’s been troubling me all day. It is said that murderers and serial killers frequently revisit the scenes of their crimes. There is a chilling reality to this inexplicable drawing.
I got married to the current Mrs. Snowman on a beach in Barbados.
So, it’s settled, we’re going to the West Indies in May.
I just hope the mother-in-law still insists on going to Spain.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0
Today I managed to avoid doing it again.
After dropping a few subtle hints about the stacks of holiday brochures that have been littering the house in ever growing piles, I finally gave in and sat down with the current Mrs. Snowman to decide once and for all where to go on holiday.
I un-necessarily dragged the negotiations out for several hours in order to dodge slapping any paint on the walls and did an Oscar winning performance in pretending to look interested.
As usual the mother-in-law elbowed her way into the conversation and contributed her thoughts on where we should go. It seems that she’s keen to hit the shores of southern Spain and stay in Barcelona.
Now, don’t get me wrong, Barcelona is one of my favorite cities in the world and I try to get there for at least a few days every year. It’s a truly beautiful and vibrant place, except of course when the mother-in-law is there at the same time. Come to think of it, any city loses most of its appeal in such a circumstance.
One of her primary reasons for wanting to stay within the confines of Europe was not the bargaining chip she’d hoped for:
“We can’t go too far because we’ll have to find someone to look after the cat”
My suggestion of dropping it off with a local vivisectionist was met by a whack round the back of the head with a rolled up brochure for short breaks in Morocco.
As far as I’m concerned, vacations fall into four categories:
1. Sat round a pool somewhere hot, near a beach, with lots of alcohol.
2. Visiting somewhere beautiful with museums, art galleries and lots of alcohol.
3. Staying somewhere close to a poker tournament with lots of alcohol.
4. Anywhere…with lots of alcohol.
Mrs. Snowman doesn’t completely agree with these sentiments. She’s ok with the parts concerning beaches, pools and hot locations but is strangely in disagreement about the poker and booze.
A compromise had to be reached.
Following some protracted and determined persuasion (a fucking great big argument) it was decided I was allowed the double Southern Comfort with a sea view but had to forego any hint of a casino or poker room.
Through some skilful manipulation and the strategic placement of a few glossy magazines, I managed to push her in the direction of the west coast of Barbados. This is, of course, not as conciliatory as it sounds. I’ve got some friends who live about a mile from the hotel so a set of poker chips is only a phone call away.
Conciliation was not something my opponents showed to me during either of the freerolls today. I managed to reach that last 200 of the first one before being busted out short stacked by trips over two pair. The second one was considerably shorter. Less than five minutes in fact. I’d committed myself with two large bets to try and get my opponent off the pot with a straight draw. Needless to say it didn’t work and I went all-in after making my straight on the turn. I knew I was in trouble after an immediate call and sure enough, he’d already hit his flush.
One of my readers has offered to stake me $20 a week so that I can continue with this diary. I’m very tempted to take him up on this as it will not only mean the journal continues but also I’ll have a legitimate excuse to avoid doing all sorts of tasks around the house. I’ll leave it up to you guys to let me know if you think I should do this or not.
Moving briefly back to the matter of our vacation, there is a final point that’s been troubling me all day. It is said that murderers and serial killers frequently revisit the scenes of their crimes. There is a chilling reality to this inexplicable drawing.
I got married to the current Mrs. Snowman on a beach in Barbados.
So, it’s settled, we’re going to the West Indies in May.
I just hope the mother-in-law still insists on going to Spain.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0