How much is an inch?

J-E-T-S YTD: +£31015.16

There are a lot of pubs in Wokingham. Predictably this also means there's an awful lot of pub quizzes, and most people in Wokingham are quite stupid so these really should be easy pickings. Apparently not.

Lady Miros and I did manage a bronze medal the other day, but 3rd out of 3 isn't that special, especially considering it was a quiz which paid prizes to the first 2 teams. Bubbled again. On tilt I then spent a fortune on the raffle - which had 3 different draws - and didn't win a groat there either. It's a stitch-up.

Still, if ever the gambling goes tits-up, I've formulated a plan to earn an easy alternative wage. All Alice and I have to do is travel round the local quiz circuit, sitting quietly in a corner, texting any unanswered questions to our third man, who with the aid of google will swiftly enlighten us. I'm amazed that no-one else is already trying it. Some of the jackpots in these quizzes are huge rollovers, so we could really live high on the hog for a good few weeks, or at least until we get rumbled by every pub in Berkshire, which would take some time. And it would make me feel quite clever.

My ignorance is a source of constant irritation. Evidently my 20-odd years of expensive education were all for naught, as I now know basically fuck all about anything, except horses and sports and poker, which are overwhelmingly trivial. I hated school and couldn't wait to leave, but know that there's no pressure on me I actually want to learn stuff, and know things, and not be such an ignorant arse the whole time. But then again I'm lazy, and I don't really NEED to know anything, so why should I bother?

I went to the hairdresser's recently for a pre-wedding trim, and she suggested cutting off an inch. I had to ask her how much an inch is. All I can remember is that those long rulers at school were 12 inches, which isn't much of a reference point. She could have suggested removing a hectare and I'd probably have agreed.

Meanwhile the JETS YTD continues its inexorable climb, slowed only by the fact that I've pretty much murdered the market on Betfair. As I write this there's 14 quid available at 23-1. Marvellous. Where have all the sickos gone? Come on boys, throw me a bone. Some of us are trying to get out of it.

Also it's the stag night tomorrow, which I'm vaguely dreading. Happily I've been promised there'll be no strippers or nasty surprises, but when I look at the rogue's gallery of sickos that are coming I can't help feeling that something unpleasant is going to happen to me. I warn you now, you horrible little fuckers, you'd better not try anything funny. It's more than your life is worth.