The Knavesmire racecourse in York was the destination of yesterday’s sojourn for my wife and yours truly; the event in question, Ladies Day of the annual Ebor meeting. It’s a day that creates unfettered colour from jockey silks, along with the splendid outfits of peacock suited ladies and gents.
This aesthetically pleasing kaleidoscopic vision enhanced further by the majesty of witnessing flat horses in full flight, the joy of procuring a winning bet and indulging in the obligatory tipple. A combination that would cause Wallace no doubt to opine “By ‘eck, it’s a Grand Day out, Gromit!”
I’m a very occasional punter whose gambling is ordinarily confined to a £2.50 each way bet per race on attendance of a race meeting. That being said, I find little that matches the thrill of a racehorse you’ve endorsed leading the field past the finishing post. It’s snout setting off the camera sited on the post with the spherical scarlet top.
Admittedly, my relatively diminutive betting stake negates the chance of reaping a life changing winning amount. However, that doesn’t detract from the euphoria procured when your pockets have been lined by the efforts of equine and jockey in perfect harmony.
Yesterday, my wife Karen’s endearing quirk at occasionally omitting a letter from a person’s surname, or adding one that shouldn’t be included, paid dividends for the wee lady. In the penultimate race she announced she was going to back Fleur Forsyte, as a tribute to entertainer Sir Bruce Forsyte (she meant Forsyth) who passed away last weekend.
When it romped home at 10/1, Karen’s £5 win stake on the horse with a moniker that nearly matched Sir Bruce’s surname netted her £50. While she basked in the glory of her win, taunting course side bookies with lewd gestures and a disparaging song about ferrets, her winning strategy set me pondering.
Could it be possible there exists a science underpinning her unknowingly miss-spelt celebrity surnames that provide the user with dominion over the bookmakers?
I somehow doubted it, however I made a mental note that if I see a racecard with the names of other individuals she endearingly labels incorrectly, eg Paul Wellings (Weller), String (Sting), John Legen (Legend), Jasper Conway (Conran) and Paul McCartridge (McCartney), I may have a cheeky little punt.
What is there to lose?…… Well, apart from my £2.50 each way stake!
As I said above, I suspect my spouse’s fortune in the fifth race of Ladies Day, York, was more down to good luck than spiritual intervention from the recently departed Sir Bruce Forsyth. If it was you Brucie, though, and you’re reading this, have you any other tips?
I backed a winner in the first race. My selection Tangled made from an selection strategy that was as equally unscientific as that my missus. This choice, though, not the consequence of a tribute to a celebrity whose surname I mispronounce, moreover the result of a game of ‘eeny meeny minny moe’.
Admittedly, it was a childish approach for selecting a horse, but hey I know someone (I’ll call him Doctor X) who uses his penis to select a prospective winner from his racecard. The success rate of his format is erratic at best; mind you, his arrest rate while attempting to place his bet with a course side bookmakers is very consistent.
Doctor X’s approach is quite obviously foolhardy, with no real gain for him. After all, even if he manages to place a bet and the horse wins all it does is cover his bail money after his arrest for indecent exposure.
Karen and I left the Knavesmire racecourse shortly after 5pm, following the final race. We were happy to be £35 up on the bookies, which would cover the bill of a pizza and drink each back in Leeds.
As Sir Brucie may have said “Didn’t they do well!”