RICHARD BIRCH

Weblog: A light hearted look at my punting life

Stuffed Shrimpers repels tiger and watch omens

TUESDAY FEBRUARY 23

I'd been waiting months to have a right old touch from Overlaw. Towards the end of last week, when his name had figured among the entries for the opening 2m conditional jockeys' chase at Southwell, I'd said to myself: "this is it; grand time". After inspecting the final field I thought Overlaw was a certainty, but smashing into him at 7-4 with a 10lb conditional on board who had yet to win a race under Rules - even though a pal had told me Ciaran McKee was highly competent and had ridden numerous winners in "pony competitions" (interpret that as you wish!) - didn't really appeal. Instead of going for the crown jewels, I restricted myself to £200 at 13-8 with Stan James. Ten minutes before the race, my watch stopped ticking for the first time in years. A bad omen? Mmmm. Overlaw duly fell at the second. I shook the watch in frustration, and it duly started ticking again. I was really wound-up (!) now. Prior to the race, I'd decided to drive into town immediately afterwards to get a new battery. With the hands moving once again, I chose to try and get my £200 back. I made a valiant attempt, but a stupid each-way bet in a hunter chase on Imperial Sun (12-1, would have got third in another stride) finally stopped me. Tick tock, Ron Hodges you're still my bok! At 7.35pm the watch stopped ticking again.
Loss on day: £285

WEDNESDAY FEBRUARY 24

Woke up in a terrible state, having dreamt that a tiger was crouching over me with his wide-open mouth tickling my throat. I swear I could smell hisbreath. Pooh! Never had that dream before. It's a bit of a worry. Immediately logged onto baddreams.co.uk and typed in: "about to be eaten by a tiger". Well, that's what you're encouraged to do in 2010, innit? The diagnosis was: "Thoroughly disillusioned with constant wet weather, Phil Parkinson and a non-achieving bunch of over-paid pansies in Charlton shirts. Go back to Barbados." Then it all made perfect sense after last night's 2-1 home defeat by Brighton. I'd stayed at home on my island. Hadn't been able to face the prospect of a trip to Broken Britain in the pouring rain and howling gale.
Trabolgan could have made things better, but tipped upwhen cruising at Doncaster's fourth-last. That's two falls in successive days. Luck's out, but pressed on regardless. Did even more dough. I lost £425 but nonetheless, by the end of the day, I felt really happy. My role at the Racing Post is changing slightly, and you won't be seeing my name as much in the greyhound pages in future. I spent the entire day chasing horse racing stories, ringing and chatting with the likes of Nicky Henderson, Jonjo O'Neill and Gary Moore, all heroes of mine. It felt good. It felt right. Can't wait to do another news shift.
Loss on day: £425

THURSDAY FEBRUARY 25

Psychologically I needed to win today. After deciding not to back Sycho Fred in the morning because of doubts about his confidence - I'd watched the video of his crashing fall at Newcastle and visibly winced - I placed £165 on Master Of The Hall at 8-11 with Stan James. He was a certainty, wasn't he? A profit of £120 on the day would do wonders for my mental state. Master Of The Hall went off at 8-13 - and got well and truly stuffed! In desperation I stuck £75 each-way on Sycho Fred at 6-1 (Stan James again). He didn't jump a twig, and was pulled up. You idiot,Birchy; you idiot.
Loss on day: £315

FRIDAY FEBRUARY 26

I had stacks and stacks of work to do, and got up at a ridiculous hour. Living just 400 yards from a beautiful beach has many advantages - especially in the summer. But when the tide is in at 6.30 on a cold February morning, it's still dark, pouring with rain, and the only alternative route to the newsagent's to purchase the Racing Post is under six feetof mud, there are better places to be based. I took a chance, jumped over a few rocks, and promptly got swept into the freezing cold sea by a dirty great wave! Spitting more salt than a Harry Ramsdens employee, the omens for a successful day's punting weren't good, but £100 each-way on Lavenoak Lad (6-1 with Ladbrokes) at Warwick soon warmed me up. "Not too far, Nathan [Sweeney, top lad], just push him out, my cocker." I took my wife out for a steak dinner - not as nice as the Guinea Grill, but very pleasant nonetheless - and later spent the last five minutes of the Southend versus Charlton match sharing every second with the 2,200 Red And Whites at Roots Hall via mobile phone. When the winner went in two minutes into injury-time, I leapt around the house like a lunatic - singing; shouting; screaming; gesticulating; taking my shirt off. "We can see you sneaking out," I joined in lustily. I may have been 100 miles away, but I swear I could see those Essex boys slinking away.
Profit on day: £750

SUNDAY FEBRUARY 28

A day away from punting yesterday did me the world of good. My focus was back. Knew exactly what I wanted to do. I placed £125 each-way on Spring Wine (11-2 with Victor Chandler) at Clonmel. He ran well. Finished third. Place money never in doubt. I felt Citizen Vic would win at Leopardstown. He did. I'd invested £80 at 5-4 with Ladbrokes. They now owe me £875. 'Magic Sign' pay day is Tuesday. Not such a bad week, after all.
Profit on day: £147

Loss on week: £128