Now the fact is I think betting on horses is stupid. it would appear obvious that there is all sorts of bad practice going on from doping horses to jockeys throwing races. yet many people seem to enjoy wasting their money and ‘having a bet’. Not for me.
When I worked on the floor of the Stock Exchange every year I got the chance to buy a ticket for the annual Stock Exchange Grand National draw. Whilst the prizes were large the whole idea was to raise a lot of money for charity and people were very generous. The chance of actually drawing a ticket and ‘getting a horse’ was remote. Every year I would buy £100 of tickets and I would, like everyone else, bemoan my luck when I drew a blank. Some years on I was working for BZW (Barclays Investment bank) and out of the blue someone came around selling tickets. Most of my colleagues bought £5 or so but I had a tradition to uphold and when the man came to me I produced a furl of notes and paid out my £100. I don’t know if people were impressed with my largesse or if they thought me mad or perhaps some ‘heavy gambler’. A week or so later the list of successful tickets was circulated and I was not a little surprised to find that not only had i drawn a horse but it was also one of the favourites. News got out and people bid me for the horse. I will give yo a thousand pounds said one man. The actual value of getting the winner on the day was £25000 with the second £12500 and the third £5000. The scale of the whole thing was such that despite these fantastic prizes a large sum was given to a list of charities. Seeing my luck I determined to keep my ticket despite the bidding moving up. One man bid me £5000 as apparently my horse had moved ahead in the betting. I cannot remember the horses name now but it all git quite exciting.
The week before the race we went on a family holiday to France skiing. On the day of the race we were driving back home and around 3 pm or when ever it was i turned on a very scratchy radio 4 I think to listen to the race commentary. It is of course a long race and between crackles and fade outs the listen was excruciating especially as my horse was to the front. In the end it came home in second place and I was to receive £12500. I spent the lot, or nearly all of it by taking my family and my Mum and Dad to Paris for a long weekend. No expense spared the best hotels, cruises on the Seine and meals at the best restaurants. There was but one problem in this extravaganza and that was somewhere during the first morning we all started scratching our heads! My darling son had bought some extra visitors with him, lice, and we all got them. Getting lice oil is quite a challenge in a foreign tongue but soon we all looked like ‘the greasy family, who had not washed their hair for a week. We had special combs, we had to wash our hair in foul smelling shampoo. In truth it was as you might guess a bit of a downer. I bought everyone a gift, including myself. I bought myself the most expensive shirt i have ever had. It was from the main Pierre Cardin shop and there were no prices on the goods. It was sort of if you need to know the price you are in the wrong shop. Any way it was pink and because I ‘smelt’ i did not try it on-an error! I twitched violently when at the till as my beautifully wrapped shirt was presented to me in exchange for a Kings ransom. I could hardly decline to pay after the way it had been wrapped.When I got it home the slim fit was way to slim and whilst I would wear it on occasion the worlds most expensive shirt threatened to pop its buttons. I kept it for years hoping that one day i might slim down-i never did.
One Friday evening I found myself at Harpenden Rugby Club. I was not a member there but we lived in the town and someone had asked us along to join a table. I cant remember who was there but it was a dull lot. In the middle of the table were some raffle tickets. The prizes were given by members and the whole idea of the raffle was to boost club funds. The miserable lot put in the odd pound and some did not even bother. I struck with a certain amount of flamboyance I seem to remember. I will take the rest I piped up and dug in my pocket and produced my roll of fivers. £25 or so pounds later I had a whole host of various coloured tickets lined up in front of me as the club Chairmans wife made the draw. In third place an evening at a local restaurant everything paid for. In second place a pair of tickets on Monarch airlines to the sun. The people on my table gave me knowing looks as if to say ‘you fool wasted your money’!
And now the “Star Prize’ announced a clearly inebriated Mrs Chairman, a bathroom suite! Blue ticket 179. It was mine. I stood up triumphant and marched to the stage clutching my token of success. The thing I remember best was the fact that Mrs Chairman was very excited and that she had a moustache of sorts. ‘What is your name’? she said as I mounted the stage to cheers and the odd catcall. My name is Dennis I said. “here is tonights winner of the star prize’ she announced before kissing me all too keenly for my liking as her moustache scratched me. ‘The winner is Terry’ give him a cheer. ‘Well done Terry’ some shouted and for the rest of the evening the people on our table called me Terry. It was strange but heh I had won the star prize- a bathroom.
In truth we had a magnificent bathroom in our house courtesy of Smallbone I seem to remember, it came with the house. As a a result I looked for someone to ‘bless’ with the prize. Now if the truth is known i am not the favourite of my mother in law. I don’t blame her in the least indeed I might write about her at some point just so you can see how right she is to doubt me. Any way I rang her up and asked her if she would like a new fitted bathroom. She seemed overjoyed if a bit suspicious. I got in touch with The Rugby Club in order to get details of how i was going to collect my prize. Now here is the rub. The ‘star prize’ given by one of the club members was in fact a toilet, bath and wash basin. No fitting no tiling nothing just the three items. I was committed so i arranged to pick the things up and took them down to Poole where ‘herself’ lives.
It cost me around £2500 to get the thing fitted and all the tiling done etc. It was a secret I kept and when ever I visited ‘herself’ I made it my business to enjoy my time in the small room. It was kind of special to me.!!
Tales of a Life Well Lived 