Whoever first claimed "Nothing good ever happens after 2am" had clearly never been to Las Vegas.

I'll take that back - they may have been to The Meadows and just not remembered what happened there. I'd go as far as betting twenty bucks that was the case, if I still had a dollar to my name. At least if I was still there I'd be able to hawk the shirt of my back for a Hamilton to put down on the roulette table and win it all back, 'cos I'll let you all into a little secret - I have a system.
If you turn up to the casino in the Hard Rock Hotel with a system they have only one thing to say to you:

    "Oh, you have a system - come right in. We have a special table for people with systems. Would you like a drink?"

37 minutes later, you have no money. But you might find yourself at the bar at 6am, smoking a Marlboro light and talking shit with your fellow losers when your conversation gets interrupted.

   "Do you have a light?"

   "Sure thing." Beat. "Have you met Graham?"

As an aside I have to say that lines from TV shows should never work in Real Life^TM. That's the beautiful escapism dispensed by the box in the corner of the room (or more likely these days the giant canvas hanging on the wall) - everything happens to other people but we can share the afterglow vicariously.

Back at the bar in the Hard Rock, the blonde was happily engaged in conversation with Graham, but my wingman duties weren't over. Her friend appeared on the bar stool opposite mine and we struck up a conversation.

I opened with early 80s cinema only to be hit out of the park when I was questioned on the acting of Harold Ramis and his subsequent writing and directing career. (Did you know that Stripes was one of the top 10 highest grossing films of 1981?) After a while she threw me a curveball by bringing up 1940s Germany, the Wannsee Conference and Die Endlösung - turns out she was writing a screenplay set at the time of the Nuremberg Trials and could talk about history (and a whole host of other things) for as long as I could stay awake.

At some stage Graham went upstairs with the blonde but I stayed at the bar chatting for quite a while longer. My other friends were still at the Blackjack table and I was having a fantastic time.

   "Do you believe in fate?" she asked.

   "No, but I believe in coincidence." which drew a smile.

By this time I had more alcohol running through my veins than Jesus Christ himself and was in desperate need of sleep. It had been a long day: jet-lag had forced me awake at 7am after only about two hours sleep. The day had been spent skiing on Mt. Charlestone and to get there we'd hired a Hummer H2 and driven the scenic route around the winding mountain roads. We got back into town just in time for the Friday night rush hour and my hopes of a couple of hours kip were outweighed by our desire to cruise down the strip. After dropping off the car I ended up walking back to the hotel dressed in ski kit, drawing some strange glances from the other tourists. After a quick shower and change we ended up having dinner in the Hofbrauhaus before heading out to a few bars on Las Vegas Boulevard. Events transpired... I got a cab back to my hotel about 4am and didn't expect to end up being captivated by the Las Vegas girl who was still seated in front of me at 10am and who's name I did not yet know.

She had to leave - I think to go and find her friend - and insisted on leaving with my business card, phone number and address in London. As we parted I said possibly the smartest thing I'd come up with all night.

   "Can I kiss you?"

So maybe I'll meet that girl again, somewhere in London, at some point in the future, and who knows what'll happen. Maybe, I'll start believing in fate.

I was at a funeral a few weeks ago, laying to rest a guy I hardly knew. I'd met John a few times in Val d'Isère but sadly to my detriment never really got to know him properly.

So I was standing at the back of the church, which itself is a testament to the type of person that John was, that he'd had an impact on so many lives that the church was overflowing, when the coffin was carried in and the song Happy Ending by Mika was piped through the speakers.

I'd never heard contemporary music at a funeral before - the closest was at the last one I went to, for my Godmother Maeve, where her son Toby played the guitar and sang a song, I can't remember which one. The only thing I remember of that occasion was arriving late and hiding at the back, only to be spotted by my uncle Tony, who inserted some impromptu paragraphs into his eulogy about how Maeve had looked after Ben and I after my mother died. He was good at off-the-cuff, but then again he was phenomenally clever.

Sadly I never got to go to Tony's funeral because my family didn't give enough of a shit to invite Ben or I, which seems a shame as he was Godfather to both of us. Fortunately we got to go and see him in the hospice when he was dying of cancer so we got to say our goodbye in person.

But we both found ourselves at John Vanns's funeral, listening to a wonderful eulogy from his brother, Pete. Whilst there were tears all around me I could only smile at Pete's heartfelt words about his younger brother and when it came to sing a rousing rendition of Jerusalem I put my all into it - and I could hear my brother's tenor voice from the other side of the church. The rest of the day was spent in celebration of Jamboy's life.

I found myself at work a week later, listening to music whilst trying to get something or other done when I heard a familiar song through my headphones. It has Happy Ending and I was immediately transported back to that moment that the coffin was carried into the church. Initially I was angry that a song I enjoyed listening to could cause me to remember such a sad occasion, but then I realised that the message was one of happiness and hope.

Forever, now, when I hear that song I'll always be reminded of a few moments in time: an outpouring of grief, a great speech, and a wonderful turn out of people who's lives were made richer by a guy called John Vanns. I just hope that I'll have made such a great impression on the world when I disappear from it forever.
 

Shakespeare wrote 154 of these things. I didn't realise how bloody hard they are to compose until I tried to do one. It's not just the structure but the iambic pentameter that proves to be a complete bitch.  Anyway, here's the first (and possibly only) effort:

This sonnet is just a poem with rhyme
and meter.  Yet the words that I put down
distil what I feel at this point in time.
These words I write for you they were my own
but now they are yours to discard or keep.
Each day I see a picture of your face;
sometimes you even interrupt my sleep.
Your eyes and your smile provide some solace
only bettered by a bestowed kiss
from your tender lips.  To feel your caress
would be the apogee of utter bliss.
To live life without it would be duress.
Yet this decision I must leave with you;
As these feelings might not always be true.