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Saturday 9 April 2011

grand National sweepstake

editors note: andy still in hospital and he tried to organise a sweepstake for the big race here is how he got on


Good day beautiful people and a happy glorious Saturday to you all.
My attempts to organise a sweepstake with my fellow inmates for todays Grand National tested my progressively waning tolerance level to an unprecedented limit. I shit you not my friends, One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest is more factual than fiction. 



‎"Right my little band of friends, in this bed pan is the names of all the horses running in this afternoons big race and this is how out works".

I preceded to explain the whole concept of a sweepstake; the folded pieces of paper with a horses name printed on them, the entrance fee,the number of lucky dips into the bed pan per stake, ie: 50p gets you one pick, £1 gets you two picks etc etc...whoever picks the winning horse will win £10, whoever gets second place will win £5, third and fourth place will each win £2.50.

"Everybody understand the rules?"



The following is a true account of questions and events that pushed my progressively waning tolerance level to an unprecedented limit.

"How do you know whose won, do you decide?"

"If I dont win, do I get my money back?, I always like a snack from the tuck shop in the afternoon and I've only got enough money for me Mars Bar. (a sincere question)

"What do you want 50p for again?"

"Can I buy all the horses?, I've never won anything before"

Ray protested.."It's all a conspiracy to keep the proliteriat in the gutter". The global gambling industry and a little known Governmental department, that we in the know call by its pseudonym 'The Department of F@ck the Poor. Together they promote and exploit the dreams of the desperate lower working class into believing "that one day you will dine at the table of the Bourgeoisie" whilst all along stealing the little capital that proletariat are killing themselves for every day in the toil and shit of their existence. And do you know something, all this 'booty' is spent to adorn that dining table with a feast that you will never be invited to. SO F@CK YA GRAND NATIONAL"...At this point, I noticed all the other inmates had already left the table, leaving myself and a ranting Ray. Cheers fellas.


I retreated back to the solitude and comfort of my padded cell. I picked all the folded pieces of paper out of the bed pan and threw £20 in.

I now need a long deep full body meditation. I shall return to the external world at 4.15...to see if I've won the sweepstake. I've never won anything before.

I WISH I WAS IN THE PEEL.



editors note... the Peel Andys Local

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