Howl

God I bet badly today. As bad as since I can hardly remember. (Though funnily enough last year's Aintree I was definitely on tilt and only a very large priced ante post bet on Silver Birch let me off a hiding).

The challenge bets were fine – so they lost – big deal – that's racing. I don't have a problem with them. The fund can cope with that. At that time of day I was in neutral – humming along on a settled period of gambling – not rich but paying my way, as is.

A few hours later I was gone. I have a puppy. Four months and a handful, now beautifully asleep! He walks pretty well on the lead, but when he sees a car it's as though the collie part of him kicks in and he loses it completely. His head is gone, he strains, he barks, he whines, his forelegs are off the ground as he attempts to launch himself at the passing car. Afterwards, I try to get him to sit, to calm down. But he's not there. His head is gone, somewhere else, wrestling 4x4s to the ground. In essence that's how I bet today.

And my racing fund bore the brunt, and paid the price. After Cheltenham I realigned the fund, changed its objectives, recognised that the market (betfair driven) was leaving me behind, and put in place betting and staking strategies to move me forward. Then today, faced with the first proper meeting since the change I just reverted to my old ways. Bet management, money management, emotion management, all went to hell in a handcart. In short, I played like a fuckwit. And by the end of the day I was definitely on tilt. Ok, so not on tilt like those years ago when I bust my bank at Cheltenham, but on tilt in a methadone kind of way.

I hate that Gillette advert with Woods, Federer and Henry (why him?). But hopefully I can take their lead and brush the bloodstains of today off my shirt and attempt not to lose it tomorrow. Anne may not understand much about what I do, but she is attuned to my emotions. She returned to to say "it's a very strange thing you do".

Amen.