Don't worry, I'm not going to get political on you all. Well, except for mentioning that GWB is the c**t I'd most like to fuck (yes, again - he IS still there, people... ) Actually, that's not strictly true, I'd just like to see someone take him out. However, in this current era, I'm not allowed to incite acts of violence er... aloud, (Abu Hamza - is he off the hook or what?) so perhaps I should make it clear that I meant take George out for a nice meal.

In Kabul, Faisalabad, Baghdad, or anywhere in one of the newly-annexed American states (NB - Iran, Syria and (probably) France don't qualify 'til next year).

I have a dream:

A horrible little monkey surrounded by big apes has just sat down to eat.

"Good evening, Sahib. Today's specials are:

Bombay (surely bomb bay?) Duck and cover

Salmon (ala Ella)

Burger Special Epicure (BSE) served with Napalm fries

And for dessert:

Death by chocolate, or

I scream bomb.

If you would like a starter you now have, let me see... 7 seconds left to get out".

George exits left.

(And right, and forwards, backwards, upwards etc... ) I have a dream...

Meanwhile, back in Blighty: The Dogs gathered at Dave's for our own brand of mayhem. 16 of us playing meant 2 tables, and consequently I was always going to miss 50% of the action. However, courtesy of a completely mad game, I was actually involved in somewhat less of the action. What I'm trying to say is there won't be a lot of poker in this report, but then that's not really what you're here for, is it? For what little of the game itself that there is, you can thank Ping Pong, who keeps minutes during the play.

I was playing on table Number 2. And for quite a while, Number 2s is also how I was playing. Having tightened my game up in recent weeks, I thought a return to my usual reckless ways would be both entertaining and might just make the others forget about my recent change of tactics. Well, it was entertaining, as everyone else went along with the stupidity. It was the poker equivalent of an orgy - all-in, all the time. Raises every hand. You could count the number of times that there wasn't an all-in on the fingers of one hand, and still give your opponent the V's up.

"R - E - S - P - E - C - T! Find out what it means to me!" (Answer: Absolutely fuck all tonight).

My chip stack was up and down like a midget on a bungee. After a few rebuys, I finally got my stack up to chip leader (or thereabouts anyway) and resolved to keep it tight from then on. I made it to just before the freeze out in good shape, when Simon (guest player) put in a modest raise. He only had 2K total, and I forgot about my new plan and decided I'd scare the rest out by putting him all-in with a semi-bluff. Oops. Dave Two Chairs only had about 1750 left and called, which proved to be the trigger for everyone else to follow. A massive pot, 6 players and I've got Q7 suited. Make that just a bluff...

Shock! Horror! I lost. But no biggy, I was still in decent shape as we went to the freeze-out break. Cue another one of the new Dogs "presentations". This week it was Del, but in the tradition of saving the best 'til last, more of that later.

When we returned, the unspoken suicide pact between Dave, Baz, myself and Marty was put into practice. I'm not sure whether our play should come under "balls of steel" or "shit for brains", but Dave was our leader in the van. He re-raised all-in first, and for added drama, did so with only the river to come. Would he be taking the Walk Of Shame? Having your picture framed by a toilet seat makes you look a bit shit, but Dave avoided that fate when the river (very appropriately) flushed away Baz's lead.

"That's easy!" I thought to myself (rather like the knights in Monty Python and The Holy Grail faced by the killer rabbit). Especially since I'd just been dealt AQ suited. The flop was 99T, but no spades. I put in the minimum raise; only to have another guest (Paul) put me all-in. I decided he was probably ahead and eventually laid it down. A narrow escape - Paul had quad 9s, whilst I had a developing problem of chip loss. It's actually VERY similar to hair loss - however much you try to cover it up will only draw more attention to the issue.

Whilst I was busy trying to work out what could work as the equivalent of a wig to hide my pathetic chipstack, Baz had remembered our pact. He hit his K on the flop, slow played it, and then raised all-in after the turn card (an A!). Paul was accumulating enough chips to be benevolent to the RAF man, and called with a straight draw. It didn't materialise, and the suicide team were on a roll. Marty was tempted a couple of times, but I knew when I picked up AJ it was my moment. I raised all-in with Baz and Marty still to play. Baz re-raised me (obviously just for effect - which worked, as Quads then laid his cards down).

As I expected, my AJ was facing a pocket pair. Actually Baz had pocket rockets, and I knew at that moment that I WOS doomed. I needed a miracle and, frankly, if there IS a god, I suspect he doesn't dish them out to gambling agnostics too often. God wasn't working in mysterious ways at that precise moment - I'm guessing he was probably in the khazi, as my cards had mostly been toilet this evening.

And so I took my first (official) Walk Of Shame. I say official WOS because I have been out first previously - I think this was my turd time. And even if I did play crap the critics won't bother me - I've been panned before. So feel free to take the piss, 'cos I'll be dumping on someone else next week. I'd been busting to hit a couple of Js to make me a set, but there was no relief. I didn't have a pot to piss in and it felt just like I'd wet myself.

Funnily enough, Marty and the rest were all wetting themselves. Sympathy at The Phat Dogs is like gay sex at The Vatican - I'm not saying it doesn't exist, but it is a Cardinal sin.

Without the threat of a week of humiliation hanging over them, others soon began dropping like flies round at Abi Titmuss's place. Quads Marty, Pete The Slag, The Doc and then even Baz went out. Next it was our guest Simon (aka Slim), Disco and 2 Chairs, who finally completed the suicide pact. The suicide thing was such fun, I think we should make it a regular event - I'd certainly recommend it to Dubya.

Another guest, Dave 'R' (presumably from the West Country?) fell next. He had to re-buy half a dozen times (good man - perfect Phat Dog material) when he failed to believe in Jesus. His lack of faith was punished by a variety of straights and of course, full houses. Well, Jesus usually pulls a crowd. Del followed Dave out, and then Jesus caught Ping Pong (small blind) trying to steal His big blind with an all-in raise.

Unintimidated, Jesus asked how much Phil had got. Phil (pointing at Jesus's stack) "More than that!" The holy-undaunted one made a heroic call (89s) with Ping Pong showing the 75c. Flop, turn, river - Jesus had made 2 pairs. However, realising crucifixion wouldn't work, Phil had simply clubbed Him to death. Another Dog flushed - obviously this time it wasn't holy water.

And what of Graham? Without Lindz around to take him out with a 72o (and The Woo, natch) he'd been making steady progress. He'd had the (by-now mandatory) bad beats, notably AJ vs. KJ against Del earlier, which he'd then avenged by inflicting the final blow after Del got low. However, in G's mind he was still on the naughty step at the poker gods' house. After several Victor Meldrew impressions (well actually one "I don't believe it!" but several times over), The Coroner decided they'd probably forgiven him as he went all-in with his pocket Qs.

When Nick spiked another A on the river, however, G could only conclude that Death By Woo was infinitely better - at least the chips stay in the family, so to speak. And at least he hadn't bubbled (unless you count the increase in his blood temperature to boiling point). That's pure conjecture by the way - sadly I'd already left and so missed that part of the entertainment.

There were 3 Dogs and 1 guest (Paul) left. Paul had come to the final table with a massive chip lead (transferring tables with his chips in a 2 pint measuring jug), and I was hoping he'd manage at least second to prevent too many league points being scored against me. Having come all the way from Didcot, huge chip lead, I should be feeling sorry for him as he bubbled out (4^th) at 1 am, still facing a 45 minute journey home. And I did feel sorry. Sorry that he'd taken no points at all! Pity vs. Annoyance? Hmmm... Annoyance every time, it's my life blood after all.

My nemesis Andy had been giving a master class in discipline, patience and hitting just enough cards at the appropriate times. Miserable, boring Bosnian bastard. Correction! Make that miserable, boring, successful Bosnian bastard. But only up to a point. His withering chip stack was finally done for when his last big blind became an all-in with K3 - Nick had AQ, which proved more than adequate and Andy had to settle for 3^rd.

Heads up was Nick vs. Phil - Harry Potter and the Ping Pong Balls of Bracknell? Clearly, JK Rowling has nothing to fear from me. As the 2 Dogs started their quest for this week's bragging rights in Berkshire (Barkshire, innit?) HP was about 2/1 up in chips. After a few hands Phil bottled Nick's all-in re-raise when holding KJ, and it was a quick trip downhill from then for Ping Pong. No doubt HP thought the game was magic, but for the other Dogs the magic moment had been at the freeze-out.

I haven't forgotten about Del, and I doubt any of us ever will. Del's ahem, "presentation" will go with all of us to our doggy graves, and will go down in the Phat Dog annals. That's with 2 Ns by the way, otherwise it would be Dog poo, which it was anything but. Del regaled us with numerous tales of his exploits during the evening, all of which seemed unbelievable, or at best, improbable. Unless you saw his err... performance. I now believe he is capable of absolutely anything, which doesn't bode well for my poker in future. No matter, it's worth it.

Having commented that he'd be happy to risk a grand in a tournament if he was "in the mood""Nick asked whether Del Boy would care to stake him. Del (who doesn't play online) declined with, "I don't do internet geeks!" He then proceeded to broaden the scope of his insult with "You know what I mean Phil". That was just the appetizer.

He then told the story of how he'd been featured in the Daily Mail (pass the spittoon), with a photo of him striking a James Bond style pose. The story was that Del Boy (suddenly that nickname seems absolutely perfect) had tried selling a piece of Charles & Diana's wedding cake on eBay. The offer of £400 hadn't swayed Mrs. Del, however, who presumably still has the said slice of British Royal history. I'm still trying to work out why he didn't just cut it in half, or maybe that's just a story he hasn't yet told (her).

Pete the Slag was prompted to recall how he had successfully made an unlikely eBay sale - £5.50 for a pint of piss. Yep, really. I'd love to have seen that customs label... But it was Del's night, and he countered with his tale of writing to Channel 4 about their programme featuring 2 Asian women. Del thought it was inflammatory and likely to incite riots, but the police felt that Del's letter was doing that job a lot better. A day trip invitation to London ensued (personally delivered on his doorstep by the Hammersmith fuzz), who felt he was just the man to assist them with their enquiries. He refused - on medical grounds. I'm told he has to keep near to home, but I'm sure he didn't fancy a close inspection of their stairwell either. No charges were brought.

And so to the main course. We'd already seen presentations in poem, song and powerpoint formats - what could Del possibly top those with? The answer was a children's show. No, I'm not making this up - Del had clearly spotted that we're nothing more than a bunch of big kids.

Del: "Hello boys and girls!"

Dogs (bemused): "Hello... "

Del: "I'm going to need your help this evening. Will you all help me?"

Dogs: "Err... OK."

Del: "Good. But before I start, I have to get my friend. Do you want to meet him?"

Dogs: "Go on then... "

Del returned from the kitchen with his friend - a squirrel. Not literally, it was a furry puppet on his arm. Del introduced us; we said hello to his friend, and it squeaked back at us. Well, I wasn't too surprised at the high-pitched noise, given that Del was elbow deep in it.

Del sorted us into 3 groups that were each to chant a part of the chorus in his forthcoming ditty. As I checked the time, wondering how long his kiddie's show (no doubt extolling the virtues of playing together nicely) might take, we practiced the chant. And then he began.

Dear Reader, I make no apologies for the bad language used in these reports (although I will drop the C word just as soon as the Yanks drop Bush). I have heard outrageous rugby songs, I have heard forces filth, and I have heard Twas on the good ship Venus. If you put them all together and asked Joe Pasquale to sing them, it wouldn?t even be close to Del's effort.

In over 40 years I have never heard anything that even comes close to the lewd, vile and utterly over-the-top tirade of filth that spewed forth from his mouth. Without any notes - all of it was committed to his memory. I began thinking there should be a V and an I in his name, and that he'd hidden the 666 tattoo pretty well. We started to chant the chorus after each verse, but as it progressed, so we started to wane. It's difficult to concentrate when you're distracted by the tears rolling down your face, and you're trying to focus on not actually wetting yourself.

Del has promised to test my company's email filtering system by sending the text to me verbatim, which I will happily pass on to those with the safety of a colostomy bag. Next week Del can do the write-up. As for me, I've met my comedy match and I'm giving up. Its suicide time - bummer.

P.S. True Royalists should also check out this link (sound required):