Southend U3A

Writing for Fun

August 2019

The Loser - Anne Wilson

NOVEMBER 2016 Let me introduce myself. My name is Gavin, I’m forty years of age and I’m a loser. No, I’m not quoting an early Beatles song and I’m not exaggerating. I’m a King Midas in reverse – everything I touch turns to dross.

Go on holiday: rains incessantly – whatever time of year it is. Spot a parking space when I’m in a hurry: someone else nips in and takes it just before I can get there. Cold going the rounds – mine is the first nose in the vicinity to start twitching. Promotion at work: always one candidate more suitable than I am. Feel sorry for me? You probably do.

I feel different today, though. I think 2016 is going to bring about a change. I’ve been left some money by an elderly relative, you see. Nothing life-changing but gratefully received, nevertheless. One thing I haven’t told you: I’m a bit of a gambler. Nothing too serious, you understand but the doorway into my local Corals has my imprint on the carpet as you enter. You’re not going to be surprised when I tell you I’m not successful. My losing streak is legendary. Horses I select in my mind but didn’t put down on paper romp home with monotonous regularity: whilst the ones I do commit to paper (and my wallet) get beaten by the narrowest of margins. On several occasions I’ve had a winner disqualified due to the jockey’s careless riding. It’s no laughing matter.

This little windfall of mine would normally disappear down the drain in dribs and drabs on some of my four-legged friends. I refuse to let that happen and am going to change tack. (No pun intended!) I’m going to bet on events instead. They don’t have to all be sporting ones: just any event that looks a sure-fire certainty. There’s a snag to that, of course. The starting prices will be prohibitively short and my profit margin will be negligible. That’s why I must select several events at the same time and let the money accumulate. If the first comes off it gets re-invested on the second and then if that succeeds, that enhanced amount goes on the third. If that comes off then the whole amount goes on a fourth and by then it probably won’t matter how short the starting price is for that event because the original stake will have increased. I mull over things that are likely to happen this year and their likely outcomes. Now for my selections . . .

Selection Number 1 – 23rd June

Mr. Cameron, our Prime Minister, has, in my opinion, recently overplayed his hand in a misguided example of over-confidence. He wants to continue as Prime Minister and is sure he has found an easy way of ensuring that he does, silencing all doubters. He has called a Referendum in order that the electorate can choose whether or not they wish to leave the European Union. It may sound arrogant, but I think I know the feelings of the average Briton better than he does and take my first calculated risk. It will be a close-run thing, I think but I feel confident I know the outcome. It is my first prediction and there are four events noted in total – all written in my large, uneven handwriting and filling practically every available inch of the betting slip.

I place it on the counter of Corals together with my money, which sits in magnificent splendour within a brown envelope. It is my entire inheritance. Thousands of pounds. Eyebrows are raised slightly behind the counter and the Manager makes a call to Head Office. After an anxious few minutes, he puts the receiver down and nods his head, taking the envelope and looking at me pityingly as he does so. He obviously thinks I may never see the money again, which doesn’t fill me with confidence.

I sit up most of the night on 23rd June, doubting myself, but by the morning I am jubilant. Flags in Brussels are flying at half mast and a pervading feeling of doom engulfs the nation. I am elated, though. Mr. Cameron appears outside Downing Street and in an act of what many people regard as cowardice, makes a brazen decision to turn his back on a self-created fiasco by turning a gross miscalculation into an act of noble self-sacrifice, voicing the opinion that it is only right he resign and secretly relieved he can pass on the whole sorry mess to someone else. I smile cynically to myself. I’m a bit worried about the effect on any European holidays I plan to take following my windfall, following what is now being referred to as Brexit – an expression I’m sick of already but which I’m sure will be in and out of the English language in a matter of weeks. I feel confident that negotiations will be finalised to everyone’s satisfaction by the latest the middle of 2017. It is, after all, seemingly all straightforward.

Selection Number Two – July 10th

It’s the second Sunday of July. I watch the Men’s Finals at Wimbledon. My second event. The odds I have taken are short, having bet that one of the first four seeds will win Wimbledon that year. It’s a no-brainer, really – although there is a small element of danger in that I have had to place my bet before the tournament even begins in order to include the Referendum, which falls before it. It’s not unreasonable to expect a permutation of two of the four top-seeded players in the Final, but as the tournament unfolds, Messrs. Federer and Djokovic fall by the wayside, whilst Nadal is injured and drops out before it even begins. I find that all my eggs are now in the basket of the dour Scottish gentleman. National sentiment is in his favour and will buoy him up and whilst his Canadian opponent, Raonic, is a very good player, he is not in the same league. Nevertheless, I sit rigidly in my chair, my stomach churning. I view the match between my fingers as if I’m watching a horror movie and scream out with frustration at every missed shot. In the end, Andy triumphs. He cries: I raise my fist in triumph. My confidence is growing.

Event number three – 31st July

I have been awaiting the outcome of the Democratic party’s nomination for the President of the USA. My gut feeling for a long time has been Donald Trump for the Republicans but a bet having to be placed at the beginning of June has meant it has been too risky a prospect. In the absence of a viable alternative within the Democrats, other than the ageing, left-wing Bernie Saunders, I am confident that my selection, Hillary Clinton, will prevail and my money has gone on her. As the news breaks of her nomination I’m feeling very smug and pleased with myself. I’m contemplating how my life will be improved as a result of my win and have a feeling that this successful bet will not only mean a change of lifestyle but a change in my perception of myself.

NOVEMBER 2016 – 8th November – United States Presidential Election

My final bet. Hillary against the self-styled ‘The Donald.’ I’m sitting on my sofa in the early hours of the morning poised like a spring coil to watch the results come in on television; that now familiar churning feeling in my stomach. This time, though, the sensation is one of a child getting excited about opening his Christmas presents, rather than one of doubt and uncertainty. Hillary has lost a bit of momentum recently due to using her own personal address for e-mails regarded as classified and sensitive, but she’s still regarded as a shoo-in. The facts and figures she can quote with confidence are impressive and she exudes authority and leadership. Her opponent is feisty and aggressive but can barely string a coherent sentence together. He will appeal to people who believe his simplistic rhetoric that he will restore their jobs and make America great again. Even at my lowest ebb I have never had to sleep out in a cardboard box, or gone short of food, which is something that seems to be happening in many parts of the USA to people formerly working in industries now outsourcing manufacturing to overseas countries. Having the promise of a roof over their head and food on the table is a powerful lure for the American population to vote for Trump but surely won’t overcome his alienation of most of the female voting population. His coarse remarks about women in general and accusations of unwanted advances from in his past will put paid to his chances.

The first declared results go surprisingly in Trump’s favour but I’m not unduly worried. I shift a little uneasily on my sofa, but then reassure myself I have nothing to worry about. I’m almost at the finishing line and the next time you read about me I’ll be a Winner.

Hillary can’t lose, can she?!