Caledonia Dreaming or Ian38018 Sporting Travels: Hamilton Park

Thursday, 4 August 2022

Hamilton Park

Family Raceday

1st May 2022

Another afternoon spent forcing my hard-earned cash into the pockets of a couple of bookmakers. This trip did, however, require a whole load more self-control than I usually have to exert at the gee-gees.

For I had inadvertently found myself attending with a walletful of tenners and twenties, me having arranged a hospitality evening at East End Park the night before. And, of course, everyone wanted to pay in cash. But I did succeed in keeping my gambling outlay down to less £50 for the day - even if I had to scurry off home halfway through the racecard to ensure I did.

I am by no stretch of the imagination a regular gambler, but the temptation to hand over a fistful of notes to one of the bookies in an attempt to recoup my earlier losses was palpable. And I began to get the merest glimpse of what it must be like to be a compulsive gambler. After all, how difficult can it be to pick the correct horse?

I gained a sharp lesson in just exactly how difficult it can be, when I watched my choice finish last in a four horse race this afternoon.

I had started the days the granny's way, by doing the Tote Placepot thing. Attempting to pick a placed horse in each of the first six races of the meet. Knowing feck all about horses and form and shit, I had just gone for Number 4 in each race, with an £18 total stake.

A fine looking piece of horseflesh with the slightly salacious sounding name of Shesadabber carried my hopes in the first race; me choosing to ignore the advice in the race card which stated that the horse "ended last season in dreadful form and looks hard to fancy on return".

But the lady (I assume she was a lady) did rather well, finishing in third. I initially, and naively thought, I had won.....but realised "placed" in a seven horse race meant first or second. So that was my tote bet gone.

And that was pretty much as close as I got to winning anything. The oddly named Diocletian (named after a Roman Emperor, I later learned) I had backed at a wildly optimistic 50/1, and he ambled in second from last in Race Two.

Only four horses in Race Three - surely I can do something here I smugly thought. Another twenty shelled out onto Number. Instinction, this one was called, the name of a fairly decent (at least after Trevor Horn got his hands on it) Spandau Ballet song. Undoubtedly a good omen.

Regretfully not - for despite appearing to be well ahead early on, a last place beckoned.

I was now £48 down, after three races, and the wad of notes in my pocket had begun vibrating and whispering "Let us out to play". Resisting the little sirens, I admirably decided I had ticked my Hamilton Park racecourse box, and headed for home.