Every loser wins… eventually. And, says Nick Leeson, that’s what makes his life so entertaining, even if it doesn’t make him rich any more.
I helped to organise a race night for my wife and mother-in-law a few weeks ago for a charity that is very dear to their hearts. Well, it was probably the worst thing that I’ve ever done. The night was very successful; everyone had a great time and yours truly made the usual prat of himself by having one too many and insulting the local football team.
It happens, doesn’t it? You just have to get up the following morning, dust yourself off and try to mend a few bridges.
So I did – but my malaise was caused because the evening had been sponsored by Boyle Sports, the bookmaker. And I’d convinced myself that a free bet was just what I needed.
But I know pretty much nothing about horse racing. My dad used to watch it religiously on TV when I was a kid, which totally put me off. I like going to the races and having a flutter when I’m there, although – generally – a granny-type bet on the Grand National is my limit.
Please hold the line
But that has all changed now. I still can’t follow the form, but I have a phone account, which is bringing back a few memories of my trading days.
Armed with my free bet and €40 of my own money (I’m on a tight budget these days – long-gone are the multi-million gambles I once made), I had an each-way bet at the Galway races at 10/1 which romped home. All of a sudden, I had €300 and started thinking, probably mistakenly, that maybe this wasn’t so difficult after all.
A few weeks later, with a couple of hours to kill in Dublin before catching the train back to Galway, I thought I might take a turn into the bookies. A two-mile walk became a four-mile stagger from bookmaker to bookmaker, placing bet after bet along the way.
I was winning a little – nothing major, but the balance was slowly inching higher. I got as far as Grafton Street and thought I’d test my new-found luck with a bigger wager. I started betting by phone on a horse at Chester called Claret And Amber at 5/4 about half-an-hour before the race.
As I continued my tour, the price kept drifting – so much so that, with 20 minutes to go, it was 2/1. I doubled the bet at 9/4. By the time the race took off, Claret And Amber was 11/4 but had touched 3/1. Another horse had been backed in from 11/1 to 9/2, which I thought was so typical of my luck.
I must have made a very funny sight in the shop: fearless Rogue Trader shitting himself over a €600 bet at a local bookmaker. But I was worried; I remembered markets crashing in Singapore much as Claret And Amber’s had in the last 20 minutes, and there was a distinct feeling of d
