Let’s make it interesting.

I started yet another project last month, with the title you see above. The basic premise is to take note of, or do, one thing of interest every single day, then record it. It sounds confusing, so it’s easier to describe it as a diary I want people to read, with less talk of which boys I want to kiss and more guitar solos. Below is an excerpt.

22nd February.

Today my friend Adam alerted me to the fact he believed he’d discovered a flaw in a gambling system, I reacted pretty much how I expect anyone else would have and laughed, stating that no one beats the system. Before begging him to tell me what it was, his answer was thus.

He found that on two different betting sites the odds on Basketball didn’t change, and on another they reacted according to the score. Using this he would bet on a team that was winning by a large amount, then hedge his bet by then betting on the losing team on a rival site (which by then would have massively increased odds), thus regardless of the outcome, he’d always come out better off. To prove it, he showed me his account, which had 800 pounds in it.

Although hesitant I decided, why the hell not and after some deliberation bet 300 pounds on a random Russian basketball team, the name of which I couldn’t even pronounce. However, it was almost immediately after this that my other friend present, Jack, discovered the flaw in his scheme. The odds that didn’t change had a stipulation that the team that was winning, had to continue winning by a large margin, if there was a slight comeback on behalf of the losing side, the bet would be void.

Meaning both of us were sat with 600 pounds of our collective money, bet on what was essentially numbers on a screen, which according to the newly realised odds, meant I was going to lose and he was going to win, again. Both myself and Adam looked at each other upon realising this with an expression I can only describe as a cross between losing your testicles and being told you have an STD, with the other people in the room stifling laughter. In this time we contemplated what it would mean to lose this amount of money, how stupid we’d been and how I’d pay for the pizza I’d just ordered.

Through sheer dumb luck though, we both won, I’d hazard a guess that the amount we won was probably more money than the entire team we’d bet on were even paid for playing. We of course reacted to this like mature, responsible adults. By which I mean we played a song entitled, “All I do is win” at ear splitting volume and danced around the living room.

28th February.

On the train back from my short albeit relaxing trip to see my mother I saw a group of what I presumed to be businessmen. I say presume, as despite wearing suits and all the other paraphernalia associated with being a suave businessman, their conversation consisted of nothing but drinking stories.

One of which involved one of the gentlemen present, telling of how he’d woken up on a ferry to Amsterdam the previous week after a night of, in his own words “smashing the shit up”. This story along with the way it was told brought me some amusement causing me to audibly giggle. This giggle I fully suspect could have come from a small girl with an over-active oestrogen output and still have been more manly.

The businessman telling the story cut short at this and asked me, again in his own word, “if I had a fucking problem”. Quickly glancing across to his comrades faces I saw that he was in fact, serious about beating my face wih his hands and I realised I was fully at risk of becoming just another statistic of of random train violence. However the fact this man was in what appeared to be a very nice suit, a suit I assumed he wouldn’t want tarnished by my fear urine or tears, I decided to simply tell him I found his story amusing and apologised for listening in.

Seemingly disarmed at my courtesy he apologised for his language and we struck up a conversation. As it so happens the men weren’t businessmen and were on their way back from a wedding, when I asked why none of them were with a bridesmaid, as is the custom for a wedding, they said that they were all ugly and one said that he was in fact gay.

I left the train soon after that, but putting together the two facts told to me, and considering the drinking stories I heard, I feel comfortable assuming one of the men I met will be having a bisexual experience.

1st March.

Today I met with my tutor, who has been helping me to finish my dissertation, during the course of which she mentioned that she was teaching a class on “online writing”. Since it’s a subject I’m reasonably familiar with I jokingly suggested I speak to her class, she didn’t see this as a joke and signed me up.

So less than an hour later I was stood staring at a group of bright eyed first year students who by all rights had no reason whatsoever to listen to me. My tutor tried making the case that I was an online writer and had wisdom to offer them, when I enquired to who exactly in the class would like to pursue it as a career or even hobby, precisely zero people put up their hand.

Regardless I took it upon myself to tell them all about how I earned money sat around in my underwear, they weren’t impressed, except for one guy who I swear was either mentally undressing me or calculating how many times he could beat me with his chair before security turned up.


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