The tale of Bill

Time now for a little humour. I inform you of this in advance, in
order that you may prepare yourself to at least smile at the conclusion
of my effort to entertain you.

The tale that I am about to recite is set in the 1960s, and situated in
the North-East of England. It was at a time when a man could visit his
local pub, with a couple of pound notes in his pocket, and have enough
to pay for a few pints of beer and a bag of crisps. This was a way of
life to many people of that period; and also today, if the truth were
told; the only difference being that the money required would be
correspondingly greater these days.

The story concerns a man named Bill, a widower, who has lived alone for
several years since his dear wife departed. He is aged in his late 60s
and retired a few years previously on a pittance of a pension from the
National Coal Board. He suffers with poor health, a legacy of working
most of his adult life on the coal-face at the nearby pit. Bill lives
his life on a day by day basis, with limited means and little
pleasures. He does, however, enjoy his liquid refreshment, courtesy of
his local drinking house, 'The Red Bull'.

A major problem has now arisen for Bill, namely, a regular recurrence
of negative funds. The reason this is happening is due to Bill himself,
for, after imbibing himself at his local watering hole over the
weekend, he finds that, once into the 'swing', he cannot help but
over-indulge. His willpower is zero and the end result, and thereby the
problem, is that he never has any money left over to have a night out
through the week.

Some, upon reading this may well shake their heads and think, "What a
sad life and outlook for someone to have". I ask those of you who are
thinking this to try and imagine yourself in the shoes of the character
in the story. For a few, it is probably an impossibility; but try
anyway.

The situation needs to be addressed urgently and Bill, after putting
his thinking cap on, comes up with what, to him, is a brainwave. The
solution to the problem comes to him while he is reading his daily
newspaper. It is logical, simple and easy to apply. It is, to Bill's
way of thinking, quite brilliant.

And this is what it is.

It happens to be a Saturday. While looking through his daily paper,
Bill happens to glance at the horseracing page. He is not a gambler by
nature and rarely has a bet. Providence appears in many guises however
and, on this particular day, he is just killing time reading an article
on the racing page, when his imagination kicks into gear.

Skimming through the various racecards for the day, he notices that
three or four horses that are listed in races are identified as
non-runners. Scrambling through his drawers for some writing paper and
a pen, Bill jots down the name of one of these non-runners in his best
handwriting.

The words listed below are what Bill wrote on the notepaper.

?2 WIN BLACK MATTHEW

How, I can see you thinking, is this any kind of solution to Bill's
problem? Read on and I will enlighten you.

What is written above, for those who have never seen an example, is,
simply stated - a bet.

The ingenuity of Bill's thinking is that if he puts the above bet on
with his local bookmaker on a Saturday, he will automatically win. This
is because if the horse he has selected does not run in the race, it
will be treated as a non-runner, making the bet void and thereby
entitling him to have his ?2 stake refunded in full. Because Bill has
purposely noted that the horse is a non-runner, he knows that he will
have ?2 returned to him eventually. Because there were no Sunday
horserace meetings held in the days of this story, 40 years ago, the
bookmaker was always closed for business the following day. The
resulting action being that Bill would preserve for himself the sum of
?2, of which he could collect on Monday, thereby enabling himself to
have a small sum of money set aside with which to have a night out.
Hallelujah for small mercies!

This is not the end of the story however, read on.

After the first week, Bill is quite pleased with himself as his system
has defeated his lack of willpower and the little preserved nest-egg is
very welcome indeed. The following Saturday sees Bill again in the
bookmakers enacting a copycat re-enactment of the previous week.

This little charade of character continues unchecked for a month, with
Bill arriving promptly every Monday morning to collect his 'winnings'.
The bookmaker has obviously observed what is happening but, smiling
inwardly to himself, he allows the pantomime to continue for, after
all, it is not costing himself anything and so why deny some pleasure
to someone who is obviously gleaning a little satisfaction with the
transactions taking place.

A new Saturday arrives for Bill and, after a quick scan through his
morning paper, in which he notes down the name of 'Red Rascal', a
non-runner as denoted on the racing page, he writes his bet in
readiness for the coming afternoon. Taking a short stroll to the
bookmakers, he hands over his bet, accompanied by his customary ?2
stake, places his betting receipt in his pocket and goes off to enjoy
the forthcoming weekend, secure in the knowledge that his ?2 is safely
locked away until Monday morning.

The weekend flies by and Monday morning arrives. Bill has really
enjoyed the weekend and is really pleased that he has his regular
'winnings' to collect. This is because, over the last two days, he has
spent everything he had in his pocket and is now heavily relying on
collecting his cash.

Accepting the receipt from Bill, the bookmaker checks the ticket number
against his list of winning bets to be paid. Having checked the
ticket's validity, the bookmaker holds his hand out to that of Bill's
and hands over the winnings. Bill takes one look at the wad of cash
that the bookmaker has pressed into his palm and, being an honest man,
replies that the bookmaker has made a mistake, for the amount he had
just given Bill was far too much.

"What did you back?" said the bookmaker.

"I had ?2 to win on Red Rascal, which was a non-runner", replied
Bill.

"You're definitely in luck then, for Red Rascal won at odds of 25/1,
which, of course, means that you win ?50 plus your ?2 stake".

"But I thought that Red Rascal was a non-runner", said Bill
perplexed.

"No", said the bookie, "I noticed that too, but it was just a misprint
in the paper".

'Bloody Hell", said Bill, "That's the last time that I ever place a
bet, I could have lost my ?2".

So ends the story of Bill.