Friday, November 06, 2009
Last at Lamington by Pants
The things I'm best at are the ones I know nothing about. This is not a very pleasant realisation to arrive at in middle age. Of course there are a great many things I know nothing about so choosing one in which to specialise is no easy task. Fortunately my old friend Mr T has been visiting here all week and he was able to confuse me even more, which is probably the thing he is best at. Having looked at all the things I'm doing, he advised embarking on a whole set of different things. Nora Barnacle said after reading Ulysses, 'Jimmy should have stuck to singing'. Mr T's contemplation of the Pants artwork yielded a similar response.
Mr T is not at all good at predicting the outcome of horse races. I turn out to be quite good at doing that since I was able to successfully intuit the Melbourne Cup winner, Shocking. What's more, I managed to pinpoint the betting hub at the Larrikin's End Lamington Racecourse and place $5 on Shocking to win after seeking advice from my fellow students on how to conduct the transaction. Bonanza! I received $50 for a few second's worth of clairvoyance. With horse racing, the trick seems to be to do as little research as possible and simply follow your instincts which were given to you precisely for that purpose.
I was not so successful in betting on the Lamington Classic (above). I would have been if I had stuck to my original intuition, a horse called Shagstar. Unfortunately, Mr T also conjured Shagstar from his crystal ball and since he is so bad at picking winners, I changed my mind. So did he. My revised horse came last and his came second. He hadn't gone for win or place. Neither had I. I'm not an each way person. A career as a gambler, despite obvious talents in that direction is not on the scope. There is far too much waiting around in lines and I am very much over that.
Most of the punters at Lamington looked like they had just come from auditions for Bugsy Malone. The majority were fifteen and under. The young people of Larrikin's End are more pranksta than gangsta. The boys were in black shirts, white shoes and white ties and the girls were in pink satin bin-liners with pipe cleaner fascinators. Next year I think I'll be the one wearing blinkers. I don't think a career as a bookie is on the cards either. It would be nice to be given money by very drunk people and only have to give a small amount of it back. There were twenty-four runners in this year's Melbourne Cup. That represents a lot of surrendered cash. It would be just too demoralising to take money that by rights ought to be spent on decent clothing.
So what am I to do? Now that it seems apparent the biennale people won't be calling any time soon, I guess I ought to sit down and make a list of other things I know nothing about. Well, there's particle physics, taxidermy, boilermaking, cake decoration...