Thursday 15 March 2012

Ducking Hell

I went for a quick run before I went on the booze pipe at lunch. This wouldn’t be worthy of note if I wasn’t a prick who thought his life and tawdry existence warranted a daily blog. Haha. No, even I wouldn’t have mentioned it had it not been for a proper tear-up I witnessed. Two ducks were absolutely kicking the fuck out of each other. I don’t know what had happened between the two but it seemed like there was no love lost. All the other ducks were just quacking like ducks (ha-ha): encouraging the two fighters’ bloodlust. Not one of them tried to stop the fight or calm it down – or even act as a referee, ensuring the specified rules of duck brawling were observed.

It begs the question: what is going on with ducks these days? Is duck society so rotten that pecking the fuck out of a fellow duck in the middle of a park is seen as something to be encouraged by other ducks? Where are the duck leaders setting a strong duck example? Where are the duck role models?

No More Bets

I get frustrated in life by having to confirm things, things I have already said I will do. Electronically doing this is also frustrating. We have certain systems at work that involve about 93 confirmations and you can’t turn them off. I am also fed up of being asked if I am sure I want to delete something: yes, that’s why I pressed delete you fucking piss-kettle.

And so it is with online betting. Not only do you select a horse you then go to the betting slip and enter an amount and then you click ‘place bet’. For me this is a satisfactory level of certainty in terms of my desires. But, no, you have to confirm this. This was the crucial element of the process I didn’t do in this process.

  • Win money on Bob’s Run last year
  • Like Bob’s Run as a good lad
  • Make a mental note to bet on Bob’s Run at the 2012 Cheltenham Festival
  • Get home from work on the day he was running – bet some money on him using iPad before tossing iPad down
  • Watch race while having a tab on the balcony
  • Scream loudly at the end of the race as Bob’s Run wins a great race
  • Celebrate around the flat – text several friends (I had been texting them about the racing anyway it wasn’t a gloat-a-thon; I was gloating though)

Ten minutes later I was looking on my phone, yes motherfucker I proper multi-format-bet, and the expected money was not there. It seemed a bit odd to me: bookies usually settle up quite quickly on big races. I checked my account, there didn’t seem to be a bet record of it. I checked my iPad: Confirm bet? Was on the screen. Small – at the bottom of the screen, all timid. If I was that question I would have been a bit more vociferous. Not just being small at the bottom of the screen. It should have been shouting at me as I walked away from the iPad, “Woaah, are you sure you don’t want to confirm this bet? At this stage it’s just fairly meaningless – it’s like being engaged to bet. Marry the bet you fool.”

It didn’t though and though in real terms I had just not won something it felt like I had lost £50. I don’t know about the rest of the riff-raff but it will be a cold, dark night in hell before something feeling like losing £50 doesn’t feel terrible. So, how’s about you give me £50 to make up for it? Go on. Tell you what, let’s call it £30. Just give me £30 and we’ll say no more.

(This was so traumatic I couldn’t write about this yesterday when it actually happened.)

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