Peace can be important for prosperity - but the opposite is true for bad punters

Golly gosh with bells on, life remains full of challenges, doesn't it? If it's not one thing, it's another, eh? Where will it all end? To be perfectly frank, I couldn't even tell you who makes that decision, let alone what it will be.

The list of difficulties is long and growing. And the reputation of my son in our neighbourhood has become an issue for me. I have actually got an extremely bright, kind, two-year-old boy, but my neighbours think he is rude because he ruddy loves trucks and tries to shout out "truck" every time he sees one, but gets his pronunciation badly wrong.

I have come to dread recycling day because when the truck arrives in our close at 7am, Tommy will run out shouting "f***, f***, f***..." over and over until the bemused binmen depart.

The build-up to those Tuesday mornings is equally distressing. "Bad recycling is worse than no recycling," my environmentalist wife regularly roars at me. Apparently, if you throw a dirty item into the recycling bin, it can ruin the whole process through contamination.

The fact, though, that there is probably less water in Loch Lomond than is required to clean a peanut butter jar surely has to be taken into account. Isn't water our most precious commodity?

Peanut butter jars will destroy the human race – mark my words. These characters glueing themselves to the M25 should be in supermarkets glueing themselves to peanut butter jars to stop people buying them.

Anyway, it was while attempting to extricate peanut-butter remnants from a particularly troublesome jar that I got thinking about a paradox of punting. During the five hours or so it took to wash the jar, I came to the conclusion that good punters need to be left on their own to maximise profits – and that bad punters require constant company to minimise losses.

Professional punters work best when they are alone. They need peace to focus properly on the sport and accompanying markets. I take a professional approach to my golf betting, which historically has been hugely successful, and recently I have come to realise how much a busy, noisy, family life has been diminishing yields.

I have been suffering with seconditis a lot this year – which is more painful in the golf game than in any other punting pursuit – and many winning positions have been squandered.

Take the Spanish Open in early October, for example, where Adri Arnaus was set to win me a pretty penny. There were several opportunities over the closing stages of that event where I could have guaranteed a healthy profit, but the sheer mayhem in my house meant laying off was not even an option.

The key moment came when Rafa Cabrera Bello – the only player who could deny Arnaus victory – was discussing a possible free drop with a referee. Cabrera Bello's ball was buried in a patch of heavy rough on the 72nd hole, but he was claiming his stance was being hampered by a cart path.

I should have been listening to every word, judging whether a drop was likely. Arnaus was long odds-on at that point – emphatic favourite even if the drop was granted. As I moved to get hold of the TV remote to turn up the sound, Tommy rugby-tackled me and started cackling. Daughter Grace demanded pushing on her swing, while my wife asked if I had time to trim a bush in our garden.

It was impossible to concentrate on the golf. Cabrera Bello got the free drop to a clear lie and went on to beat Arnaus in a playoff. I hardly ever lay off, so probably wouldn't have done even with full volume available, but if in solitude, able to calmly calculate everything, I may have opted for sensible tactics.

I am good at golf betting, especially when alone. I am bad at betting on other sports, which I only seem to do these days when I am alone. Wife and kids went away for a weekend at the end of October, so I was flying solo, and suddenly greyhounds, football and even F1 came on to my punting radar.

It did not go well. Had Cristiano Ronaldo's goal in Man United v Liverpool not been disallowed after VAR intervention, the footy session would have been positive (my main wager was four or more goals and both teams to score), but United drew a blank and the 'fun bets' were costly.

Safer Gambling Week has not long gone. The message I would like to add is that if you know any bad punters, spend as much time with them as possible. Arrange a game of snooker. Go to the cinema. Go ice skating. Take your mate to a smashing owl sanctuary. Just don't leave them on their own for too long.

If you know a good punter, don't disturb them. Although, it must be said, there is arguably no value in being rich and alone. Even if I exuded discipline and bet only on golf, forever alone, focused, trading in running and consistently successful, what would be the point?

As I rued another second place a little while back, my daughter came up to me and said sweetly: "Dad, it doesn't matter that the golfer didn't win, as long as you're still my dad."

"I love being your dad," I responded.

"I love being your daughter," she reciprocated.

Gamble responsibly, comrades.

Today's top sports betting stories

Follow us on Twitter @racingpostsport