Well I picked the runner-up in this weekend’s Grand National with Any Second Now (10-1) which would usually be a cause for a rare outbreak of Asti Spumante – had I not backed it to win.
With a name like Any Second Now staring me in the face, I will be left to rue the day why I didn’t have it each way when its name was such a giveaway.
My other runner, Eclair Surf at 14-1, fell at the third and was the third horse to fall. Not easy to say without your teeth in.
I heard the commentator say it had crashed out at The Ditch, which is about right, given that I’ve always feared I might be heading for one when this writing game runs out.
Sadly, I read today that the eight-year-old Eclair Surf has died overnight having sustained a massive head injury.
It certainly puts any monetary loss of mine into focus, and the story gets sadder.
Eclair Surf was a third reserve to run in the National and would not have been taking part had it not been for the withdrawal of Battleoverdoyen and Court Maid.
The ultimate kiss of death of course was for Butcher – the ultimate harbinger of impending doom – to roll up late in the day and lay out a fiver on it to finish in the top six – each way naturally.
It has all left me in a mood to jack in this horse racing malarkey.
Every passing national finds me further and further at the back of the field from those glory days where I only had to glance at a horse in The Racing Post to win.
The one that stands out most is a £250 triumph on Amberleigh House (2004).
I was somewhat ‘over refreshed’ when I scribbled out the slip at Chas Kendall in Ulverston.
I contrived to both back it to win and finish each way – so double booty – as John McCririck might say, if he wasn’t dead.
2012 was also a good year with Neptune Collognes when the then five-year-old daughter sweetly picked its colours out of the paper and it went on to win, with me hoisting her high onto my shoulders and galloping her round and round the back garden like a crazy horse.
And then there was that year that I lost all my bets but then recovered my losses having won the office sweepstake on One For Arthur (2017).
The Oldest of Old Flames (OOOF) – who I have been frantically corresponding with this week for the first time in circa 15 years- confirmed my memory that her granddad used to enjoy a flutter on the gee gees.
In fact, the Bee Gee Gees would be a good name for a race horse, as would be Stayin Alive if you could guarantee it did, or Tragedy if it didn’t.
If I owned a race horse I would be inclined to call it Neigh Chance and I’d back it at ten to one and it would come in at quarter to four, as Tommy Cooper used to say.
Anyway, ‘OOOF‘ was always devastatingly right on and painfully unconventional long before it became a badge of honour.
But I always respected her opinions and our arguments three long decades ago were rare but of spectacularly high quality.
Now living on a houseboat with a clutter of cats and a murder of crows, she texted to tell me that she regards horse racing as, and I quote, ‘horrendous animal abuse,’ – accompanied by three exclamation marks.
I better not then tell her about switching hobbies to seal clubbing.
I don’t have the energy or the inclination here to get into the whys and the wherefores of horse racing.
The Ell and Back blog doesn’t seek to become a polarising force in the world in order to rack up fake internet likes – there’s far too much of that, thank you.
Suffice to say that a horse bred from a long line of animals trained to run and jump over things which then doesn’t like it, is a bit like finding a fish that doesn’t like water. Or swimming.