It's a Mug's Game

I hold my Granny entirely responsible for my addiction to horse racing.

Granny was a wonderfully kind lady with a very quick mind which stayed active to the very end. Sadly, as what often comes to pass with these pre-war durable old sorts who are still mobile at a ripe old age; a broken hip took her from us when she was 98.

My friend The Aigle Welly Wearer, was most shocked by the news as she had always said that Granny was hanging on for a telegram from The Queen.

In my mind, Granny resembles Grandma from the Ronald “Carl” Giles cartoons that appeared in the Daily Express, which is a bit unkind because Granny didn’t really look like that at all. But she was tough, unshakable when faced with a crisis; and I suppose that is why I think of her as the Giles Grandma.

When I was young, we used to visit Granny on a Saturday afternoon and there was always horse racing on the television.

You had to pay attention though, because Granny only watched the races and not the interviews in between. This was back in the days when there were only 4 television channels and amazingly, with the power of a remote control Granny was able to watch all 4 programmes at the same time.

Granny also liked the occasional flutter and I remember her backing Mr Frisk to win the 1990 Grand National. And not only did she back him but she backed him weeks before the big race, at odds of 40 to 1. The weather in the spring of 1990 was unusually dry with very little rain and Granny had backed Mr Frisk after the racing broadsheet The Sporting Life, had said he “liked to hear his hooves rattle”.

With Granny’s years advancing, she moved into a beautiful Retirement Home in the Gosforth area of Newcastle and regularly scared the shit out of all the people who worked there, by disappearing off down the High Street to go to Ladbrokes.

Unlike my Granny, I have always been a cautious gambler because I am the worst tipster the world has ever seen. There is literally more chance of Kim Kardashian buying her footwear from Sports Direct (and the items actually fitting AND being comfortable), than me backing a winner at Warwick this afternoon.

I once (and only once) backed the winner of the Grand National and that was because in 2004, I allowed sentiment to rule my head and bet on the horse that was trained by Mr Ginger McCain who back in the 1970’s had also trained Red Rum. Amberleigh House duly obliged and as luck would have it I had the same horse in the Office sweepstake.

When I watch the racing with Other Half it is always a complete disaster. There is no point in logging into my Ladbrokes account as it would have the same effect as feeding £20 notes into my shredder. Other Half knows one thing about racing and that is the term “Sheepskin Noseband”. So if there is a horse running with any kind of fluffy embellishment on its bridle, Other Half chooses it.

And it wins. Always.

Every. Time.

I on the other hand, look at each runner’s conformation, research which horse is going to appreciate the going, study the form and then proceed to be beaten by someone who chooses a horse which is wearing half an inside out Ugg boot on its head.

Last weekend there was a meeting at my local Point to Point track. As a group of us had arranged to meet up, I got Other Half to drop me off and arranged a lift home with Pilates Friend, just in case I fancied a gin & tonic or 7.

Music Teacher Friend asked me for my tip of the day and I did (for once) actually tip a winner. Unfortunately, as the horse in question was called Always Tipsy, they obviously thought I wasn’t being serious and no-one backed him.

Towards the end of the day, we were all congregated outside the bar as the tannoy system announced which horses would be taking part in the next race. Music Teacher Friend immediately chose a horse for her bet and was about to march off to the Bookies when PR Friend asked if she wanted to go to the paddock and wait to see the horse that was about to carry her wager.

Music Teacher Friend looked blankly at PR Friend and then remarked: “Well, no not really, I’ve chosen it haven’t I?”

We all laughed uproariously at Music Teacher’s method of horse selection and watched her weave her way through the throng of people in front of the Book Makers. We were still bent double with laughter when we went down to the rails at the final fence to watch Music Teacher’s horse carry her £2 stake to what surely had to be impending doom.

By the end of the first circuit, we were no longer laughing and by the time the runners approached the second last fence, Music Teacher’s 2 whole English Pounds was in the lead. Landing safely over the final fence however, her £2 was suddenly in second place having been overtaken in the air.

At this point all hell broke loose and everyone was shouting and yelling encouragement to Music Teacher’s horse to make one final, valiant effort to get to the winning post first.

And would you believe it, but he did. And won by a neck.

As we congratulated Music Teacher on her amazing win, she confessed that she’d backed the second placed horse as well.

I clearly should have paid more attention to Granny and I think I will just remove what small amount there is in my Ladbrokes account and close it.