In paris its good to smell like you've been f*%^ed.

I'm sitting in an elegantly rundown Parisian hotel just off the Champs Elysee, sitting in front of a laptop so ancient and clunky  that it might as well be an old-style typewriter. I feel like I should be chain smoking cigarettes and manically penning The Tropic of Cancer while some brunette complains sleepily that I should return to bed.

I've had a wonderfully french week in Paris. That is to say I've been treated like scum, but with panache. It is the Parisian way to completely ignore your requests for service and then, when you eventually insist that you do corporeally exist , they look at you like you've requested permission to poo on their floor. The food on the other hand, is fantastic.

Why I'm here is simple. The WPT pulled into Paris on its world tour (actually, its the only European stop it makes). I have a funny feeling that it will also be the last time it will stop here too as only 160 players showed up and even at that it stretched the facilities of the Aviation Club De France so that they timetabled 2 "first days".

I've already reported on the tournament itself and since this is my blog, I want to describe the week I've had. It started with Peter Roche ringing me up and asking me what I was doing for the week. "Recovering from the WSOP" I replied. What else would I be doing after a grueling 4 week marathon? I mean, I'd a months washing to do, business to catch up with not to mention sleep to, um... sleep. One thing I like about Peter is that his enthusiasm for everything, the sheer volume that he lives his life at, sometimes obliterates the nuances of communication. "Great! Why don't you come to Paris with me and cover the WPT?!".

Now I'm a sick puppy at heart. I simply cannot say no to an adventure. "Want to come picking olives in Mexico Tom?!" "Sure" "I've a cousin who's living in a commune there, at least I think he's a cousin. Anyway, he's called Petro or something" "I'm already packed, lets go!". Add to that that I'm mad for cards and I knew already that the washing machine would have to be put on overdrive and a few swift phonecalls made to excuse myself for a week from some meetings. I'd already filed my writings for PPP.com for the week and quickly booked some flights. Peter was kind enough to cover my expenses in return for some assistance in technical matters while in the French capital.

The week passed in a blur of high rolling and cigarette smoke. Peter showed me the highlights of Parisian Poker and I showed him the delights of TCP-IP communications protocols. I think I definitely came out the better of that exchange! Now I'm no stranger to high level poker but the French do it with the flair they bring everything else. Pete introduced me as a friend of his and suddenly I had access to press passes (my requests for same had fallen on traditionally deaf ears) and the Salon Prive, the high rollers room where tips are in 100 euros. That explains why the rest of us could kiss off trying to find a waiter. (A record 8 requests for a Coke won me a wager when I bet it would take more then 7 attempts!).

Peter and I both went to our respective jobs. I reported on the WPT as best I could but unfortunately Irish interest imploded on day 3 and there was little to report on beyond Roland's inevitable grind towards victory (though Juha did all that he could to upset the applecart). Peter went to work relieving the Parisian upper class of their dosh and very successfully too! I wont go into details but suffice to say that at one point he picked up two chips and asked the concierge to keep me a seat in a one table satelite to the WPT! 1k a seat must have made it the largest sit and go I will ever play.

I wont recount the hands but two spring to mind. The very first hand was dealt and the guy to my immediate right who is first to act takes his whole stack and puts it in the middle. I mean, it goes 25 (sb), 50(bb), 1500 all in. I burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the bet and muck. The guy to my immediate left looks shocked and shaking his head in disbelief calls. He has AA and the original raiser has AK. €1k = 1 hand as the aces stand up. And so we get down to 5 but I am not getting any decent cards. On the plus side, I'm able to steal the blinds with impunity as I have a granite image on the table. In the BB I find K5o. What treasure is this!? It is a veritable monster compared to my usual fare but I check my option. Slowplaying. The flop is a joyous 552. I check and a chinese lady who was first to act and had limped in raises it half my stack. Gotcha I think, she's been playing fast and loose and her initial limp actually worried me that she had found a big pair. Now I'm sure of it and I confidently reraise the other half of my stack. She thinks for a minute (yeah baby, you know your big pair is no good now, dontcha!) and then calls.

And turns over A5o. Stupid bint.

Peter, unneccessarily grateful for my assistance sponsored me to play a cash game with a decent tank. I select a 2/4 game that is nice and soft and proptly get hit in the face by the deck. In 20 hands I get 7 big pairs, I raise all of them stiffly (10 times the blinds here will get you 3 callers, easily) and 2 take the blinds while the other 5 lose to monsters like 67, q9 etc. All heads up. Horrifically AJ won when the villan bluffed into my QQ after a raggy flop for 100 Euro. Gotcha, I thought.... But running Aces blew another hole in my tank. Wow. Tony Kendall from BlondePoker looked at me shaking his head, neither of us could believe my run of good luck followed by awful luck.

Oh well, at least I can honestly say I've been screwed in Paris.