Travel

How to smoke a cigar – The Sober Paddy in Cuba

I have been in Cuba for the last month or so and have developed a quare taste for the ould cigars. There is nothing that can compare to smoking the live ones in the flesh, but I thought I’d bring you a snippet of what life has been like for me. The hat I got …

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How I made friends with a squid in the Caribbean

Yesterday I went scuba diving in the Caribbean. There was talk of whale sharks, schools of Dolphins, all kinds of manta rays and turtles and tropical beauty. We were going to the North side of the Island of Utila which is one of the best spots in the world for the ould diving.

The sun was up early. The sea was calm. The breakfast of omelette and freshly baked bread was eaten at 6am in the local café, washed down with a nice creamy coffee. Cinnamon buns just out of the oven were bought and put in the pack to give nutrition in between dives.

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The Machete

The Sober Paddy has been hiding out in the Costa Rican jungle for the last week or so. Been saving the turtles would you believe. Sure what else would you be doing of a week in july. Here is a quick little taster of some of the real work I was doing. I bought this …

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The streets of Santa Marta

It is a fact of life here that some days when I leave the hostel to go anywhere, I pass kids on the streets who are smoking crack or ice. A local tells me that it is something a little different el ninos take, but just as potent and addictive. These kids are around ten years old – smokin’ the pipe. Then they scurry wide eyed and manic, hustling and begging, snatching and selling around the dark, dodgy

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Hiding away from blogging because….

First there was the virus. It has ravaged me little website. It keeps coming back. It’s like a drunken bum that hangs around the back of a pub, sniffing the warm scent of stale beer buried in the plastic bins. It stays active, pumps itself full of virus steroids, and gets back into the Sober Paddy central nervous system. Then it kicks the shit out of it. Pummels it with leather clogs across the cranium. It spews into it’s bowels

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Tales from near and far

It’s been a frustrating week on the poker tables. I have been haemorrhaging cash on all sides and finding it difficult to keep any sort of traction and momentum going. I’ve just finished playing for nearly six hours and have been dunked out of two massive tourneys online with nothing to show for it but a whole load of expletives. It has been a case of one or two bad decisions, mixed with a horrendous run of bad luck. It’s a tough game and it’s made all the tougher when luck goes against you. Poker is a big release for me and when it goes wrong I find myself shrinking into a deep, dark spot. There is no alcohol to drag me out of this, so it means I have been facing myself every day with nothing to cover the wrinkly down turned lines on my face. I see myself for the bushy haired, balding, softly sagging man that I am. Gambling is emotional and losing opens sore pores. I’m not a happy camper.

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