u play poker very good....and have nice legs

My Gmail account was hacked last night. I signed on to my secondary account and saw that "I" was online. Rather surreally, when I attempted to engage in chat with "me", "I" responded, first asking if this was my account, and then adding cryptically "u play poker very good". The lack of punctuation was troubling. Was he complimenting my poker skills, or was it abbreviated unpunctuated pidigin for "You play poker. Very good, I can empty your accounts". It took an hour or so to wrest control of the mail account back from him (you can't email Gmail!), and realise he'd also hacked into my Stars account. I contacted Stars and they responded by freezing the account. This morning, I discovered he had set my account up to autoforward all messages I received to him, which means he now has a scan of my passport, which is also somewhat troubling.
Today I was scheduled to do three long runs (2 hours each). In my coach's idealised view, this consists of rolling out of bed at 8AM, doing the first one before breakfast, the second around 2 PM, and the third one in the evening. In the world I live in where I'm normally only rolling into bed not much before 8 AM, it was more like getting up at 2, heading straight out, wolfing breakfast down and heading off 30 minutes later for number two, and less than an hour after that had been completed, heading back out for number three before darkness fell. First one was a bit of a struggle, second one flew along, and the third one felt so good I had to remind myself I'd already done two. My mood was greatly enhanced by the fact that the park was sun drenched and full of pretty young ones, and not ten minutes went by that some brazen young wan either wolf whistled at me and passed loud favourable comment on my legs. I've always felt my legs were my best feature: face like a putrefying turnip, but great legs. The great thing about long runs is you have plenty of time to muse. I mused as to whether this was a symptom of the liberation of Irish woman. Mireille reckoned it's purely a working class girl phenomenon (see used a different term than "working class": rhymes with cracker) and it's true I never got this sort of reaction when we lived in Dun Laoire. Of course, those who stayed in the park for more than a couple of hours gradually came to the realisation that my run was going on much longer than would be sensible, and any admiration for my legs was surely clouded by the obvious doubts over my sanity.
Online tonight was a mixed bag. Down a few hundred in Ipoker STTs (running like a pig: I may have broken the world record for being three outered on the river), but played two more 45 man $75 thingies on Tilt and cashed in both. Second one was a min cash (sixth), but first one I got headsup in (but lost). Unlucky in the both: was allin with AK v K3 for the win on the first, and criplled in the second with A9 v J8. I also got a $69 bounty bonus for knocking out a Full Tilt pro: Fabrice something or other.
Finally, I wish to record that yesterday was the 88th birthday of Charles Schmeltz, esteemed educationalist, unrepentant unreformed Communist, French resistance hero and also my father in law. When we rang to wish him a happy birthday, he was unavailable, having climbed up the cherry tree in his garden to check how this year's crop is shaping up. 88 years old and still climbing trees, I suppose no less should be expected of a descendant of Genghis Khan.

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