You can put all the mathematics and algorithms in all the universes into a giant pot and shake them up to organise themselves into the best logical order – but when you pour out the result it will pale in comparison to what’s rumbling about in the insides of my gut and can come out in a fly scratch.
I was rather chasing my tail last March betting around the clock on the Butterbar exchange. It took a bit of getting used to but after a few weeks it felt like a second skin. The Swedish trots were certainly the hardest to apply my maths and glean a profit. I had a big problem though – just could not raise my stakes. My nerve was shot due to the past difficult year and the one before. I had been betting a few months and withdrew all my profit in hundreds and left less than 30 pounds in balance.
I never came back to betting until the American election and the King George. It was me guts you see certainly with Trump and yes the King George was just a relaxing warm bath I watched initially out of the corner of my eye and was just inclined to have a small interest bet – a small each way and some fraction of what I had stolen on Trump an all out. ( I really could not believe his later 1-10 but just gazed in wonderment )
£ 2 win 5 place on Clan Des Obeaux – but it was just before it started that the gut started rumbling warning signs
and I went all in on a place bet.
Hardly Midnight on Steroids
more like the buzz after a couple crones hit the grey and pure enjoyment.