Win A Grand


It’s just about eight o’clock so I suppose it could all go horribly wrong in the last four hours, but so far, this has been a first-rate Saturday.

First up, I discovered that my latest attempt to turn £10 into £1000 from betting is still ongoing. Some NBA team beat another NBA team in the wee hours so I woke to find my account was now in proud possession of £50. A personal best. I really am that bad at gambling.

Next up, the postie delivered my copy of Random Acts of Writing, along with a lovely letter from the editor.

img_0206The actual publication itself has a nice, indie publisher sort of feel to it. I don’t want to use the term pulp because it’s better quality paper than that, but it does have the feel of something that you could roll up and stick in your pocket in a bohemian type way, maybe replacing an old, battered Henry Miller or a collection of erotic memoirs, before heading off for a croque monsieur.

And there’s a nice sentiment on the inside page where they encourage that the magazine be left in a public place when you’re finished reading it and send them a picture of it. I’m planning on buying a few extra copies to do just that.

So, after getting my morning chores out of the way, the early afternoon was spent reading the mag from cover to cover.

I was in two minds about going to the football this afternoon. First, my mate, Jude, wasn’t going so I’d be on my lonesome. Second, it was bloody cold. Third, Alloa have been woeful this season. In the end, a guilty conscience got the better of me and so off I went.

Surprisingly, in the first half, Alloa were excellent and found themselvesimg_0205 2-0 up just as I was reaching the head of the pie queue. And then, at half-time as I was enjoying the standard pie / bovril combo, they announced the winner of the 50/50 draw and, lawks-a-mercy, I’d only gone and bloody well won £120!

I’ve been buying 50/50 tickets for just over a season or so and I’ve been had the ticket numbered one higher than the eventual winner, but I’ve never scooped the prize before. Given that the prize can range from £75 to £200 depending on the number of tickets sold, I can officiallly reveal that £120 is better than a boot in the bawz.

Second half, we weren’t up to much, Ayr eventually equalised and just as I was expecting someone to pick my winnings from my pocket, we got a well dodgy 88th minute penalty to pinch the game at the end.

And then, just to round off the best Saturday of 2009 so far, Tesco’s has knocked £3 off a bottle of Black Label.

Top notch.

Fortnights just fly in when you’re not at work. Here’s what I’ve been up to in the last couple of weeks:

  • Stayed in Pittenweem for a few days during the Arts Festival. Julie done some quality networking and exhibited a couple of paintings in the Open Exhibition. Meanwhile, I ate lobster, sampled Fife’s lorne sausage and drank surprisingly little. We also saw a play based on J M Barrie’s address to St Andrew’s University and came to the conclusion that every working actor in Scotland has been in Still Game and Taggart.
  • Saw the Tracey Emin retrospective at the Nation Gallery in Edinburgh. I’d been practicing my eye rolling for the couple of days leading up to our visit, but was pleasantly surprised. Pleasantly probably isn’t the right word. Saw the infamous unmade bed. Lazy cow still hasn’t washed the sheets.
  • Drank lots of lattes.
  • Didn’t go to see The Dark Knight despite listing this as the only thing I definitely wanted to do during my holidays.
  • Was charged £35 for a replacement front indicator light for my car.
  • Got a Tassimo for my birthday so I can make more lattes. Another little piece of my life is complete.
  • Saw Alloa get beat 2-0 twice in the space of three days. Also saw them take a 1-1 draw. Not yet seen anything that makes me think this season is going to be successful / entertaining / tolerable.
  • Got a short story — The Last House — accepted in a local anthology.
  • Did absolutely nothing on Tuesday, 12 August, which, in retrospect, was exactly when I should’ve been going to see The Dark Knight.
  • Failed to win a grand again. This was tied into one of the 2-0s from earlier.
  • Had the same jeans on for four days.
  • Listened to a lot of Death Cab For Cutie’s new album and convinced Stoobs to go see them with me at the Corn Exchange this November. Personal triumph.

And now, with an hour left of my birthday and my holidays, I’ve decided that tonight’s the night I’m going to get drunk. Looking forward to regretting it tomorrow.

I’ve wanted to do this for a while. Take a tenner, and short of any monetary alchemy, turn that tenner into a thousand pounds. Doing this, will require the gift of gambling. Not ideal, I know, but as my dear old mum says, Ye kin only pish wi the coak yeve goat.

I started my slow quest yesterday by depositing £10 into my BetFair account. The rules are self-imposed and simple. Bet the lot on something. Stop when I get to a thousand pounds.

So yesterday, I stuck a tenner on Mario getting his tanned ass kicked out of Big Brother. It happened. I now have £13.20.

Now, rather than taking my time and plotting my next flurry carefully, I’ve gone and stuck the lot on England to win the cricket against South Africa. It’s at three to one-ish, which are attractive Sweeneys but in all likelihood, the game is heading for a draw. So my first chain may well end at one successful bet. And that’s not even a chain.

The long and short of this ill-guided wager is that I’m now settling down to watch the game on Sky, praying that England can bowl them all out cheaply today, force them to follow-through and then choke their chickens or something tomorrow. I almost sound like I know what I’m talking about.

Either way, win or lose, I’ve gone and ruined my own weekend. I wonder what the odds were on that happening.