Wild Weekend

Poker and babies - guaranteed to screw with your body clock.

By Friday last week, I was really shattered and looking forward to the weekend. Saturday evening was planned to be our first big night out since the birth of Baby Div. Drinks, and a late dinner with friends, with a possible casino visit to round off the night.

First though, I needed sleep. I crashed the second I got home, and was out like a light. Several hours later, refreshed and ready for action, I emerged from beneath the covers.....at midnight.

With the little one asleep, Mrs Div headed for bed leaving me in charge of feeding and changing duties. The plan being that she would get a decent sleep, while I stayed up for a few hours.

A few hours...seven to be precise. I played poker all through the night. Which was great. I won some cash, I had fun, and when baby awoke, I got to spend time with her. Recently, with work and other demands, I haven't been spending as much time with her as I'd like, so even changing nappies has a certain appeal at present.

Of course, come the daytime, I had a different perspective on things. Two hours sleep is not the best way to prepare for a busy day, and a heavy night.

Which perhaps explains why after copious amounts of alcohol, and a nice meal, I found myself in the Gala Merchant City casino, with cash in my pocket, my gambling pals by my side, and no urge whatsoever to play.

Remembering whether standing or hitting holding 13 when the dealer is showing a 2 is the optimum play, was more than my feeble brain could cope with. Staying on my feet was as much as I could manage.

So to Sunday, a day of rest. Or not, as the case may be. At midday my plans for the day were unclear. I knew Iggy was in the country, but whether we could meet up was not yet determined.

One brief call from Edinburgh to Glasgow set the wheels in motion, and the seeds of my killer hangover were sown.

I believe my parting words to Mrs Div were along the lines "I'll just have a few quiet drinks. Shouldn't be too late."

So how was it that nine hours later, I was sending a text message (didn't want to wake the baby) saying "Missed last train. Back in morning. Sorry!"

The answer to that question may well be out there somewhere, but I don't have it!

More specifically, I still can't work out how I went from checking my watch at 10.30pm and thinking "Two trains to go, need to make plans for leaving soon" to re-checking it at precisely 11.30pm and thinking "Shiiiiit, the last train just left!"

Things I CAN recall:

- Iggy is a total gent, and a pleasure to spend time with
- As is his dad, a man who epitomises the phrase unflappable
- They travel in style, as evidenced by a very comfortable carpet
- An evening with Iggy has convinced me I need to win a big MTT so I can afford a trip to one of the Vegas get togethers
- The 5.52am train was very quiet, thankfully
- Work on Monday was torture, but the pain was worth it