I don’t bet on horses. In fact, I don’t go into bookies’ shops having once visited in order to witness a new (at the time) phenomenon called fixed-odds betting terminals.
What I saw so frightened the life out of me that I have remained implacably opposed to FOBTs ever since and have written negatively on many occasions about them – which has got me into some trouble… but I digress.
I don’t bet on horses. Maybe the odd fiver on the Grand National, or in the office sweep, and that puts me comfortably into the same bracket as, I suspect, the very large and silent majority in this country. But that’s OK, I was always one for comfort zones.
So when someone sent me a text while I was abroad somewhere to tell me that a horse called Snooky was running in a race at Yarmouth that night, I broke the habit of a lifetime. I passed the text on to my missus with instructions to put a tenner on the nose. We had fallen for the great "coincidence" siren call and were sucked in…
The missus subsequently told me she was surprised when she walked into our village bookies. Yes there were folk playing the FOBTs (another subject), but it wasn’t full of seedy, shaven-headed and tattooed individuals in anoraks smoking roll-ups. And a nice lady behind the desk said: “Would you like a cuppa?” Looking round to make sure that she was actually the one being addressed, the missus was encouraged to make it known that she was a rank amateur at this. No problem. Friendly, helpful, baby-language advice on how to place a bet.
Bet placed, pre-conceived notions about bookies justly dispelled, the missus retreated and was suitably astonished when it won at 11-4 and she returned to receive her 30-odd quid (duly spent on three bottles of decent NZ Marlborough sauvignon blanc).
I have no idea who sent me the text with the tip, as my phone did not reveal a name, but whoever it was, many thanks - or is that appropriate? For I backed it again next time out, having watched for its name every day in the Daily Telegraph racing page. It came fifth and apparently ran like a dyspeptic donkey with three legs. It is running again tonight at Newcastle. I have put another tenner on it. Problem is, I am frightened not to. I will duly report the outcome at the bottom of this column tomorrow…
So should I be thankful to my anonymous informant? After all, he has snared me in his net and I am now a "gambler". Should I seek help?
Incidentally, the bookies that transformed the pre-conceived prejudices was William Hill. Fair play.
(UPDATE: It came second. I had put the tenner on the nose.)
