Academics have deliberated for years to come up with a decent definition of the term ‘addiction’.
‘The condition of being drawn impulsively to a particular substance or activity’ perhaps? Or how about ‘The state of being enslaved to a habit or practice that is physically or psychologically habit forming’?
May I also suggest ‘Going conkers deep on Dunfermline Under-20s to beat St Johnstone Under-20s on a Tuesday night’?
That’s where I found myself last week. Despite the fact there was a sh*t load of EFL Cup and a decent number of Champions League play-off qualifiers I simply couldn’t wait till 7:45pm to scratch the itch and ended up having £232 on the Pars youth side ‘draw no bet’ at 5/6.
While the match was going on a mate of mine rang asking if I fancied going to the cinema to watch the new Ricky Gervais film. When I told him I was watching score updates on bet365 of a Scottish Under-20 match he suggested I seek help immediately. I had the last laugh however as Dunfermline won 2-1. As David Brent himself once said: “If you want the rainbow you got to put up with the rain.”
I went on a bit of a health kick towards the back end of last week. Gym twice a day. Eating well. In fact, I knocked that much chicken into me from Wednesday to Friday I was half expecting Bill Oddie to drive up to the north east and put a brick through my front room window.
So, did this new found clean living and clean eating outlook help my gambling? Did it f*ck. On Friday night I lost a packet on Derby at Burton. Then on Saturday evening I needed Hull City to hold on against Manchester United having backed the draw at 13/5. I was devastated. And while Marcus Rashford was diving into the away end at the KCOM I was crying into my grilled chicken breast and quinoa.
On Sunday I waved goodbye to England for a week away in Benidorm with ‘er indoors. The place gets a bit of a bad rap, usually from knobheads with ideas above their station who go abroad to places like Dubai and Santorini and spend the entire gig Snapchatting pictures of f*cking cocktails.
I like Benidorm. Solid. Consistent. Reliable. The James Milner of holidays if you will. Indeed my only real gripe with the place is the fact that there are motability scooters all over the gaff. But the weather is as warm as the people, and even the pickpockets exude a certain charm.
We arrived at 11am and I was on the San Miguel by half-past, but not before steaming into Manchester City to score in both halves at 5/6 against West Ham. I cannot recall any of the game as I was at least nine lagers deep by kick-off, but the bet was settled as a winner so I’m assuming City did their job.
Sunbathing on holiday is a funny one though isn’t it? I mean for a man who is not averse to getting his meat and two veg out while out on the lash in England, why do I go crimson red and start flapping when I see a female confidently walk around on a foreign beach with her tatas out? In the words of Johnny Nash, I guess there are more questions than answers.
Cheeky’s Punt of the Week: France to beat Italy at 6/4 (Paddy Power)