Yorky Pud

As you probably all know by now I am currently in Barcelona to help the PokerNews Live Reporting team update you all with the goings on in the EPT Barcelona Main Event. I thought it would be good to keep a daily blog for the next week, time permitting, seeing as I'm a bit of a Little Englander. Maybe I could be poker's answer to Karl Pilkington?

The drive to Manchester Airport was pretty uneventful to say the least, just a nice steady 70 all the way listening to an old "God's Kitchen" CD I forgot I had. I love how I still get a rush when I hear certain tunes despite being a good lad for the past 3-4 years! Anyway, I got to the airport but could I hellers like find the bloody car park I had pre-booked! After a brief panic, I managed to access my email archive on my phone, parked up and got the free shuttle to the airport.

I've not been through Manchester airport recently but I can never remember a time it was so quiet. Usually it is bustling and it really pisses me off how people are rushing around at the last minute and barging past me, but there was none of that, in fact I bet I didn't see more than a couple of hundred people in the time I was there. Good result in my book.

Not knowing when I would get to stuff my fat face again I thought it would be best to buy some massively over-priced food before take-off. Thinking of what would be best for me and my fellow passengers I opted for chilli beef enchiladas, which were actually quite nice, though they've been repeating on me since. Usually, I don't get nervous about flying but this time I was bricking it, so much so I had to numb the old nerves with a couple of double Jim Beam's and cokes. They seemed to do the trick, especially as I had both of them in 15-20 minutes, probably explains why the flight went so quick, but I doubt they had any influence on the tail wind that helped my plane get to Barcelona nearly half hour earlier than expected.

I usually run pretty good at the baggage carousel and this time was no different as my case was the third or fourth one out and after picking it up, being scowled at by the most miserable chuffing passport control woman on the planet, I headed for the exit and waited for a text message from a fellow reporter, Lee Davy, who I'd arranged to get a taxi with to the hotel. However, I did not plan on him landing at a completely different terminal to me, one that was at least three miles away from me! We eventually agreed to meet at the hotel instead of the airport so I went to the taxi rank to see if Spanish taxi drivers are as miserable and psychotic as the ones in the UK.

The answer is yes they are. This 50-odd year old bloke asked if I wanted a taxi, well that's what I reckoned as my knowledge of the Spanish language stops at around "two beers," "please," "thankyou" and "heth heth heth, heth heth heth heth heth, Boutros Boutrols Gali." I pointed out the address to my hotel and he didn't seem too excited about the fact but he did say "come," which either meant he was actually very excited about the thought of driving me or wanted me to get in his car. Despite the language barrier, and the fact he did not say another word for the next 10-15 minutes, I found out he was related to Fernando Alonso, just by his break-neck driving speeds, lack or observation and his willingness to basically drive like a complete knob. When we finally pulled over the meter said €19.85 so I passed him a €20 note but then he pissed about with a load of buttons and it added another €4.10 on! I said, "WTF" and passed him a €10 making for €30. Well, Alonso Snr can't drive and he can't count either as he gave me €1.05 and a €10 note! One-nil Pudding.

The hotel itself is uber-posh and definitely not somewhere I would be able to afford to stop at off my own back. I went hunting for my complementary dressing gown and found the mini bar, mini in that you could by one of the cars cheaper than a bottle of Bud or tube of Pringles. Just everything about the hotel is classy, so God knows what I am doing here. Actually, I tell a lie. Everything here is classy barring the internet, which is free so I shouldn't really moan I suppose. It is so slow it is not even funny and keeps cutting out on me so I doubt I'll be playing any poker here any time soon, though Mr Davy informs me he is playing six-tables with no problems, but he uses a Mac so he doesn't really count! Oh and the bog roll is horrific, though I think they try to distract from that by putting a telephone on the toilet wall. Seriously, WTF?

One of the downsides to such a balla hotel is that the prices reflect this in their services, namely the bar and food! I quite fancied some grub but after seeing it is €30 for a breakfast I decided that a bag of Haribo that I brought from home would be more than suffice for now, though the sugar rush is keeping me awake and I need to sleep!

I'll leave it there for now as I am going to try and get some shut eye as it will be a busy day tomorrow, probably 12+ hours in the casino itself. I'm not nervous at all now, probably because I've had four babs today and their's nothing left in my locker, and I'm quite looking forward to it. Hopefully there will be some fun hands and situations to recall later.

As always, thanks for reading and best of luck at the tables!