Postcard from Deauville
Thursday, 21 January 2010
Bonjour! I now seem to be in France. Strangely for a nervous traveller, I seem to have racked up five countries in three weeks. I’m losing all sense of what langue I’m meant to be speaking.
On the plus side, given that I hate packing almost as much as I hate flying, it turns out to be much easier if you just go from place to place without stopping. Got back from the Bahamas with half a day to spare before leaving for Cardiff; I simply removed three bikinis from my suitcase, squashed in three jumpers and I was done. Back from Cardiff with 24 hours before taking the Eurostar, I added three pairs of clean socks, one pint of drinkable milk, and I was away.
(It went very well in Cardiff, by the way: we made great new episodes of Only Connect. The series is getting very good viewing figures and I hope our new visitors will be pleased with later developments, there are some brilliant teams and some truly ingenious connections. Our question-chief Mr. Bodycombe has been on excellent form.)
Here’s an interesting note, though: during that 24 hour period in London, I got locked in. Locked into my own home. The front door jammed and I had to call a locksmith to let me out. Do you think that’s the universe telling me I’ve been travelling too much?
Anyway, here I am on the eve of the Deauville EPT, my second favourite location on the European poker tour - after London, of course. Apart from the charm of this retro 1920s seaside resort, it’s meant to be the softest field of the whole EPT, although that’s never been any use to me. I’ve never made it past day one here. I’m Doomed Of Deauville. But I come anyway. I like it, and you can get here by train.
Regular blog readers may remember that last year I stayed in a room with an eerie picture of John Travolta on the wall. You can read that tale here - and indeed you can look at the lovely picture itself, here.
This year I’m staying in a different hotel. Not a different room, a whole different hotel. Just to be on the safe side.