So much for the big Grand National tip. So much for Big Fella Thanks. Thanks indeed. He moved up menacingly with four fences to go,flattered to deceive then promptly ran out of puff and went backwards.
"Oh well, you had a good run for your money," said a passenger in typical apathetic do-good mode.
"No, he didn't," said another passenger indignantly. "The bleeding 'orse lost. He lost his money." I would have agreed with him, if I had put some money on. I hadn't. Too many years, in the distant past had taught me there were better opportunities of having a chance of winning than betting on the Grand National.
The tip which I had been given by the Liverpudlians last week had bombed. I rarely listen to tips as every owner, trainer and jockey thinks their horse is going to win and tells everybody. So the tip I had been given on the bus in the outskirts of Merseyside, I assumed had been halfway around the country before reaching me.
I hardly ever have a bet. Only on rare occasion when someone I know and respect tells me to place a bet. Prudish? No. It's because I've only ever met one person who has won serious amounts of money on the horses. many who have won serious amounts but have lost even more serious amounts. And thousands of mugs who have just lost.
"Yeah, I reckon the quickest way to lose friends," continued the passenger "is to tip horses."
I kept quiet. Possibly because I was thinking that grumpy bus drivers would run a close second to tipsters in the not making friends stakes.
Next stop, olease.
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