Russell Brand, I learn, has written
a book in which he explains how we can "establish a personal and global
utopia." The book, the tight-trousered comedian tells us, contains
"the solution to internal and external turmoil."
Unfortunately it's not published until
October, so I guess until then we're pretty much on our own.
I've tried to pre-order the volume on
Amazon, but currently the only work listed by the shaggy-haired gagster and
political theorist is
My Booky Wook,
which I am told is disappointingly short on philosophy; although in fairness to
Brand it's possible people didn't take it seriously because of the title.
I mean, if Hitler had titled his evil
manifesto Mein Kampfy Wampf, would the history of the Twentieth Century not
have been radically different?
Clearly, Russell, bless him, is keen
to make a contribution to the sum of human happiness, but I am reminded of a
scene in Woody Allen's undervalued Stardust Memories, where the Woody character
encounters an alien and asks him what he can do to make the world a better
place: " You're a comedian," says the humanoid, "You want to do
mankind a real service? Tell funnier jokes."
This is not dissimilar to the
advice I offered Channel Four Racing when I came up with my sure fire method to
improve viewing figures.
"Tip
more winners," I suggested, and pundit Jim McGrath dutifully obliged with
Vautour on the first day of Cheltenham, which those of you consulting the
Martin Kelner Archive of Winning Bets (recently named as one of the world's
shortest books alongside Vanessa Feltz's Salad Recipes and Interior Decorating
with Sam Allardyce) will note I not only backed but tipped in this
newspaper.
The problem with Channel Four's
coverage of Cheltenham is not a paucity of decent tips but a profusion, meaning
the mug punter has to work that much harder to fix on a credible business
plan.
Sometimes you feel you could
do with some kind of interpreter to help you profit from the welter of
information coming your way pre-race.
For instance, when they say an
animal "has a live chance" how does that stack up - fiscally, I mean
- against another that is "not to be discounted?"
Close study of this fine newspaper
undoubtedly helps a little, although sometimes I feel that arming me with the
Racing Post is a little like giving a chimpanzee a copy of the Financial Times.
The Australians apparently like to
call my type of punter "Asparagus," meaning one who arrives on course
with more tips than in a tin of that delicacy.
And a further problem is I tend to handle this information
rather after the fashion of American statesman Adlai Stevenson's definition of
a newspaper editor.
An editor,
said Stevenson, is one who separates the wheat from the chaff and then prints
the chaff.
I back it.
But lest you worry about me too
much, on the day I actually went to the Festival I ended up slightly ahead
which, given the carnage going on all around, was quite a result, especially
when you factor in the tenner I won off my mate Andy, betting there would be
fewer than three working toilets on the Cross Country train back to Leeds.
The week continued to go reasonably
well and had my ante-post investment, Annie Power, paid off in the World
Hurdle, you would have been enjoying 900 words this morning about how I
reclaimed my title, The Man The Bookies Fear.
Ruby Walsh, I felt, did as much as
he could to get the beast over the line first, but he disagreed.
Interviewed by Mick Fitzgerald after
the race he seemed to be beating himself up over the loss, blaming himself for "getting
involved in a battle too early on."
"You're not too despondent are
you?" said Mick, ignoring the evidence of Walsh's face which, short of
having the word "despondent" tattooed on his forehead, could not have
illustrated his feelings more clearly.
"A fascinating
interview," said Nick Luck, "Although he is being a little hard on
himself." "Well, he IS hard on himself," responded McGrath,
sounding slightly irritated, "It's not a game.
It's their living."
After Cheltenham, Channel 4's
second team, Rishi Persad, Gina Bryce, et al, were left with the difficult task
of whipping up interest in Uttoxeter and Kempton, which Rishi himself described
as "consolation for horses that failed to make the cut at
Cheltenham."
"It's hard
to believe it (the Festival) is over," said Rishi, although the fact he
was presenting from an entirely empty Cheltenham racecourse was a fairly strong
clue.
And so to football.
I have placed my modest profits from
Cheltenham on West Ham at 12-1 to be relegated from the Premier League.
Strange behaviour, said my daughter,
for a lifelong fan of the Iron.
But I look upon it as an insurance policy.
It's a bet I shall be delighted to
lose, but if my team goes down the £260 I shall trouser will help soften the
blow.
I shall take two or three of my
favourite children to their favourite Chinese restaurant, where I may weep over
my salt and pepper squid, but the salt tears will just add extra piquancy to
the dish.
I have a friend who bets
against his own team every week so it's not an entirely original strategy, but
as a contribution to "personal and global utopia" for the time being
it's the best I can do.