Serious arrers anguish sends me crashing back down to earth

The weekend before last was an absolute cracker. I was chirping "What a weekend!" at regular intervals, whether anybody was there to listen or not. There was, quite literally, a spring in my step.

Justin Rose won Olympics gold to resurrect my finances, several tins of ice-cold Kronenbourg 1664 were consumed, a couple of rounds of red-hot sexual intercourse were enjoyed, and the world seemed tantamount to paradise.

Last weekend, though, provided the exact opposite. Whenever you think you have cracked the game of life, think again – because you are almost certainly wrong. For the punter, the week after you have a big win is arguably one that you should spend sitting on your hands with a sock in your mouth (thus rendering you unable to place any bets).