Winning but losing in the heating arena

Prior to midafternoon last Thursday I had the pleasure of battering the bookies with even greater force than Storm Arwen.

Bang! That was Foster’sisland getting the better of Blow By Blow at Ayr on Monday to land an £880-£220 wager.

Crash! That was Major Snugfit getting the better of Gavin at Southwell on Tuesday to justify a £320 investment at 11-4.

Wallop! That was Malinas Island staying on at Lingfield on Thursday to beat Freethinker and put £1,500 in my pocket.

The 2021 punting deficit was down to £7,105, and confidence had soared that I might actually be able to finish the year in profit after plunging the depths at the end of March.

I was buzzing like Boris at Peppa Pig World, but things can change very quickly – both in punting and life – and by 8pm a disaster was beginning to unfold.

After giving back £480 of the Malinas Island winnings via an each-way bet on Trevie Fountain at Wolverhampton and a win wager on Guguss Collonges in a Lingfield chase, I went to turn the central heating up. Nothing happened.

I tried to ring British Gas, but nobody would answer. I tried another number, and it quickly became apparent that the first available appointment for somebody to try and fix the problem would be December 17.

So I rang an emergency night number for a local firm at a call-out rate of £80 plus VAT. A man duly arrived half an hour later and diagnosed a faulty thermostat and timer panel. Both could be fitted the following day.

Until then my wife and I would have to stay cold. And with exquisite timing, Friday and Saturday were forecast to be the coldest days of the winter so far.

Almost immediately after I had lost £440 on Certainly Red in the last race at Newbury on Friday the task of fitting a new thermostat and timer panel was complete.

The radiators started to feel warm again. Bingo. And off went the electrician into the darkening late-afternoon.

Literally, two minutes after he had walked out of the door, the radiators went cold again. Desperate tapping and banging of the new thermostat didn’t produce the desired result.

I rang the emergency night number again, and a man soon turned up. “It’s the boiler, mate. I’ve got a replacement part in the van.” Three-quarters of an hour later he departed, with the radiators redhot. Just five minutes had lapsed when they went stone-cold again. And that’s how they’ve stayed since Friday evening. No central heating and no hot water. No weekend emergency call-outs.

If Annsam had managed to stay in front at Newbury on Saturday afternoon (£120 each-way at 14-1, split between bet365 and Ladbrokes) it would have softened the blow of shelling out on three fanheaters at £25 a throw from Tesco’s.

Charlton’s 1-0 defeat to Shrewsbury in the third minute of injury-time capped one of the most miserable weekends I can recall. My wife and I both stayed at the local Premier Inn on Sunday night to get some warmth and a hot shower. It felt like a combination of the Ritz, Sandy Lane and Savoy.