On Friday night I was in the pub watching the Galway races. The place didn't have the usual feel of a Friday though. Most of the punters looked like they'd been going hard at it all week, drinking and gambling, and they had a jaded look about them.
But I hadn't been drinking or gambling all week. It seemed that with no more than a cursory glance at the racing pages I could pick a winner or, at the very least, get a decent run for my money. In the end I had three winners. I did this more or less by following jockeys I'd heard of. None of the other punters in the pub seemed to be sharing my luck. Perhaps they were making the school-boy error of following horses they'd heard of. Or worse, tips they'd been given.
Then I realised. As I looked around the pub I noticed with growing disbelief that nobody, except me, was wearing a bookie's pen in their ear. It's far too easy in life, I thought, sipping my cider, to lose sight of the basics
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