DUBLIN BELLYBUSTERS

Is this a pot which I see before me,
The chips move toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, profitable session, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A feast of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the tilt-oppressed brain?

                                        - LAPPIN (after Shakespeare)

A hand holding. A winning session. An upswing. None of these things seem real to the paranoid 'tilt-oppressed' brain. After a $23,000 downswing, I am finally on the uptick but it just doesn't seem real. The last fortnight has seen me take my longest ever break away from the tables and I can honestly say that I haven't missed poker one little bit. I finished with some positive sessions two weeks ago and I have just put in two positive sessions in a row. This should make me happy but in all honesty I am numb. The break has given me perspective. It has made different things seem important. At the risk of sounding like Jean Baudrillard, Jacques Lacan or Slavoj Zizek, I have rediscovered 'The Real'.

The primary reason for this sabatical was that Michelle crossed the pond for some fun days in Dublin mixed in with some truly magical nights in London. Staying at Chez-Antonia and joined by the always hilarious (though definitely dark-hearted) Ray, we indulged in two consecutive nights of our new favourite band 'Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros'. Concealed in the Underworld of the Old Vic Tunnels, we were treated to art installations, experimental music, existential cinema, a burlesque show, a puppet show and of course Alex Ebert, Jade Castrinos and their talented posse who played an amazing set and then defied expectations with an impromptu encore sing-along on the streets outside the venue.

The second concert was directly preceded by a very special moment for all of us. Making our way through the labyrinth of tunnels beneath Waterloo Station, we caught a glimpse of an unkempt, impoverished-looking busker, tunefully strumming her guitar in one of the narrow passageways. Walking passed her, we all simultaneously checked our step and looked at one another. Breaking the silence, I spoke up: "Was that...?" Ray finished my sentence: "Jade". We quickly retraced our most recent steps and sure enough there in the darkened tunnel sat Jade Castrinos, her face half covered by a red tea-cosy hat, her hands blackened by what we would later find out was an afternoon of finger-painting. "Hey!", came the cutest of voices from out of the darkness. "Hey", we replied and we sheepishly made our introductions. Her beaming smile oozed friendliness and as we sat down beside her in the dirt, she asked if she could play us a song.