Good Odds

Good Odds

The betting company, Ladbrokes, have worked out the odds for different people being “the next Conservative leader.”  I was excited to see Steve Barclay MP getting 66/1.  This must be looked at in perspective.  Steve is a brand new MP, has never been a cabinet member, and has a low profile compared to the party members who’ve been around a long time.  Yet his 66/1 position is actually very high!

For instance, that is the same odds that Ladbrokes gives to the much-lauded Zak Goldsmith.  Also the same odds that Labrokes gives to Nick Clegg (though that seems a little generous to Clegg – how could he ever end up leading the Conservatives?  That’s just plain silly.)  And it is better odds than; Iain Duncan Smith, Damian Green, Dominic Grieve and Eric Pickles.

But its not what they say that is interesting – but rather what (or whom) is not mentioned.  The fact that Steve Barclay is on the list at all must mean something – because few (if any) other new MPs are.  The list is mostly for people with high media profiles (in order to attract gamblers.)  Clearly, our local MP has something which has got Ladbrokes interested enough to give him odds.  At 66/1 I would humbly suggest it is a value bet.  If you enjoy a flutter – put some money on it.

Showdown At High Noon

Showdown At High Noon

I’ve just spent a lovely afternoon at the Tydd St. Giles Summer Garden Fete.  The villagers do this every year and raise money for worthy funds – this year was in support of the local church.

Like most fetes, there were many enjoyable little games which cost 50p to take part in and from which you could win fun prizes if you were dextrous/ skilful / lucky (delete as applicable).  I managed to spend about thirty pounds during the worthy business of throwing things through other things, catching things with other things and picking successful tickets/ cards / bottles in amusing games of chance.

The star of the show was supposed to be local newspaper luminary Breakspeare, but he couldn’t make it and sent John Elworthy (editor of the Cambs Times / Wisbech Standard etc.) in his place.  John judged the cake-making competition and the art competition.

Not long after High Noon John found himself standing near me at the “throw some golfballs into a net” competition.  Like wild west gunslingers we approached each other.  Around us, the villagers fell silent as we circled one another – eyes locked with fierce intensity.  John cocked his eyebrow at the net.  “Reckon you kin score more ‘n me?” he drawled lazily, a challenge in his voice.
“Yep,” I said, more confidently than I felt, “Reckon I kin!”  You could have heard a pin drop as I picked up the balls and threw them, one at a time, into the net.  I missed a couple, but the bonus ball came good.  Ninety points. 

I stepped aside and John took up his place, an air of easy assurance in his movements.  I was sweating.  Had he done this before?  Was he some sort of ancient fen champion at this game, having spent many a long night in moonlit fields amongst black market ball-throwers taking part in illegal golf ball hurling tournaments?  I don’t know if it was the blistering desert sun, the cry of a crow over the wild fens or just a bad day for the editor, but he scored only thirty points. 

It had seemed a lucky escape and I made my way quickly to the “throw a beanbag into various small holes on a wooden board” competition.  John Elworthy was nowhere to be seen so I paid my 50p and picked up the six beanbags.  Apparently the idea was to have the highest score by the end of the day.  Different holes had different scores you could earn if you managed to negotiate a beanbag through them. I asked the current high score and was told is was ‘52′.  There was really only one way to beat that score.  All six bags would have to go through the difficult “10 point” hole. 

“Okay then,” I said.  “Here we go.”  One by one I hurled the tiny bags and, the luck of the devil riding with me that day, one after another they dropped into the ten point hole.  I scored the maximum possible sixty points and whooped with joy.  (Of course, nobody else was taking any of this as seriously as me, and the Tydd folk politely ignored my enthusiasm – for which I thank them!)  John Elworthy arrived, looking for another showdown.  “What was his score?” He asked menacingly, picking up the beanbags. 
“Sixty,” Said the lady. 
John dropped the bags, huffed quietly, and went to play something else. 

Steve 2 – John Elworthy 0. 

Result!

In all seriousness, what a fantastic local event put on by the people of Tydd St. Giles.  They have every right to be proud of what they achieved today – and it was good of John Elworthy to give up his time to attend.  I had a great time!