There are some things that European hotels do very, very well. Opulence, grandeur, gold-leaf molding, breakfast buffets with 17 different kinds of cheese... So why the hell can't they design a shower with a door that goes all the way across? Seriously. Is glass paneling so expensive that all they can manage are those little half door things that do nothing to stop the floor from becoming entirely flooded every time you want to wash your hair? I don't get it.

I was in Cannes last week to play the WPT National Series and was lucky to be able to stay in a really beautiful hotel on La Croisette. Beautiful, except for all of the evil.

Have you ever been somewhere which just didn't 'feel' quite right? It's beautiful and seems clean and well appointed but something, something just creeps you the hell out, Amityville-style. That was this room.

My first morning in Cannes, I groggily woke up from a dream about trying to claw my way up through a mountain crevasse. This alone is a bit strange becuase I'm not really such a fan of sports that I'd dream about them. My dreams tend to be more bacon-centric.

As I slowly came to, I started to feel a little freaked out as I realised that I couldn't actually move. Not at all. I squirmed around, trying to figure out just what the hell was going on before it dawned on me that my lovely King sized bed was actually two singles that had been pushed together. Badly. I'd managed to fall between them and wedge myself in the crack between the mattresses, with the bottom sheet acting as a kind of sling or bizarrely snug hammock. Or possibly a straight-jacket. Excellent start.

I'm a deeply lazy person and as I wasn't entirely uncomfortable in my strange little cave, I decided to give up on struggling and just lay there for a while as my eyes began to focus, pondering the day of poker I had coming up.

As my gaze moved randomly around the room, I began to see strange patterns on the wall. Is that the wallpaper? No. Shadows? No. Sleep in my eyes? Errr, no. Oh dear god, what the hell is that?

Creepily sentient looking black patterns had oozed through the fabric that covered the walls. They were concentrated near the ceiling but seemed to drip down the entire length of the room, disappearing behind the TV set. Sure, it MAY have just been deadly black mold caused by the dampness of a seaside town. It may have been that. I'm pretty sure it was the most basic essence of evil though.

Damn it, I just wanted a nice little holiday before playing some poker. I had no desire to share my room with some sort of formless malevolent presence. I'm still a little pissed off about ending up in a room that had clearly been claimed by some dark powers for its own nefarious purposes (quite possibly film industry related, this was Cannes after all). Plus the damned shower only had a half door. I want a refund. And an exorcist.