and Bayern Munich at 18/1 actually contested the final, with Inter Milan going on to win? It’s a nice feeling when you have cracked a code. I had modest winnings in 2011; I think Barcelona won it again. In 2012, Chelsea won it for the first time by beating one of my teams, Bayern Munich, in the final, but I had Bayern Munich at 22/1 before the competition started. So I was able to back Chelsea in the final to cover myself. I did not make a great deal of profit, but as Walt used to say, half of something is better than all of nothing. Just goes to show you though, the formula is not set in stone; you do find exceptions to the rule every now and then. The following year, 2013, I got two teams in the final again, Bayern Munich at 12/1 and Borussia Dortmund at 33/1. Bayern Munich went on to win. In 2014, I got Real Madrid in the final; they went on to beat Atletico Madrid. Another thing that caught my eye that year was that the last three times a German team had won the competition, the following year it had not only been a Spanish team that won, but it had also been Real Madrid that won. What more clues do people want that there are historical patterns at work?
Four
After locking up, showering and getting changed into my pyjamas, I fed and watered my pet cat, Felix, who continued to get under my feet during the feeding process, causing me to trip over him or, worse still, tread on him causing him to shriek loudly in anger. All was quickly forgotten as the goodies were piled on to his plate, Felix making short work of the rations, as if he had not eaten for a week. I called him Felix because the first tin of food I bought him was also called Felix.
Job completed, I made my way to the living room, turned the TV on, the lights off and then got wrapped up on the sofa to watch Emmerdale and Coronation Street. I know it’s a sad life when you’re looking forward to the soaps. Still, everybody to their own. Have you noticed that each new young actor or actress is to a large extent just a younger version of an older one? Take Katie in Coronation Street, Owen’s youngest daughter. Well, to me she looks like a younger Natalie Portman. Or the guy in the lead part of the kitchen roll advert who is dressed up like a Mexican dancer; he looks like Nicholas Cage. In fact, the first time I saw the advert I thought it was him and it was only on closer examination I realised it wasn’t. Funny old world, isn’t it? I have also noticed how those two show’s story lines tend to copy each other. Wouldn’t you think that independently they could come up with some original ideas instead of constantly shadowing each other’s story lines? Still, I enjoy them; I have been watching both shows for quite a few years.
Just as I was getting comfortable, who should make an appearance but Felix, jumping up on to my lap and making himself at home, purring all the while I continued to stroke him as I watched the TV. Felix has been a good companion to me. I got him from the naughty cat’s home. The girls who worked there said he was the only cat they had ever put on lockdown, because he used to bully the other cats. He is big for a domestic cat. The girls also told me that he bites people he doesn’t like. He has never bitten me, though. I think he knows which side his bread is buttered on, and I would send him back to the cat’s home if he did. They also told me he was clever, being able to open windows and doors. He did meet his match though, when I first got him. There was a big, feral ginger cat raiding the dustbins for food. A big, ugly thing it was, with cuts and bruises on its face from all the fighting it had been involved in. Felix took him on to defend his territory, but he came off worse every time. He once hit Felix so hard he knocked one of his teeth out. This went on for two or three months, until one night I heard the wild cat rummaging in my dustbin, I thought that was my chance to get even with him. I dashed outside as quickly and as quietly as possible and then picked up the dustbin lid and firmly put it back on the dustbin. The wild cat went mad, furiously trying to push his way out. I had a job to keep the lid secure, but eventually he tired. I had won the battle. I then took the entire bin with the cat inside, placed it in the boot of my car and drove to a nearby village called Methley, one of my old fishing haunts, where I released him. Out he sprang like a whippet, no doubt extremely pleased at regaining his freedom, as he disappeared into the hedgerow, never to be seen by me or Felix again.
I do spoil him, though. I know this to be true because early one morning while I was still in bed, he managed to open the kitchen door and made his way to my bedroom. Once there, he frenziedly scratched the bottom of the door to attract my attention. I immediately got up, opened the door and said “What do you want, you little scamp?” Of course, I thought he was desperate to go outside. Not so; he went straight back into the kitchen. Then I concluded his plate must be empty and he wanted fresh rations. Well, I was partially right. The cheeky little monkey had some food left on the plate, but he was not satisfied with that, he wanted something better. Oh, I gave him some harsh words and then I kicked him out of the house until well into the afternoon to show my displeasure. When I finally let him back in, he knew he had done wrong, holding his head down and tail between his legs. I called him the dead end cat of Leeds. Not that he is fat and lazy like some cats; he is still nimble on his feet and quite capable of catching his fair share of mice and birds. One summer I was sitting on the sun lounger in the back garden, minding my own business and starting to nod off when that abruptly came to an end. A guy a couple of doors down from me had a racing greyhound. A very swift mover, he normally kept it tied up. Felix had got into the habit of teasing him, but on that particular day the greyhound had either managed to slip its lead, or been deliberately released, I never knew for sure which. Next there was a terrible commotion and the bushes rattled as the greyhound pursued Felix, gaining on him all the time. At least Felix had the good sense to run towards me and as I rose to my feet, Felix shot underneath the sun lounger. The greyhound then swerved away in a wide arc, after which it made its way back to its own property. Felix must have used up one of his nine lives as well as learning a very important lesson.
I got Felix a job once. Bob came to my house saying he had a rat in his kitchen.
I said, “I have just the cat to do the job for you.”
I took Felix to Bob’s house for a sleepover. Bob said he did a very good job; the rat put up a good fight, but there was only going to be one winner. Felix eventually got hold of it by the scruff and broke its neck. Bob tried to get the dead rat off him but Felix growled at him, not yet willing to let go of his hard-won trophy, so a good night’s work all round.
I later thought I could start my own business; I would call it Rent-a-Cat. My advert would read: Got a pest? Get a cat, use Rent-a-Cat, the ecofriendly way to get rid of all your pests. We supply the cat and he will do the rest. Satisfaction guaranteed. Well, it was just an idea, although he does sometimes need my help to solve a particularly hard problem. He was sitting at the bottom of the garden once, tail swishing from left to right in an uncompromising manner so I decided to investigate. On my arrival and after closer inspection, I could see that Felix was trying to catch a big spider. It was hiding; you’ve heard of the hole in-the-wall gang, well this was the hole-in-the wall spider, only emerging when some unsuspecting insect landed on its web. Whereupon, in double quick time, it would shoot out of its bolt-hole and pounce upon its latest victim, disabling it, then wrapping it up in silk like an Egyptian mummy, ready to be devoured at a later date. I quickly concluded the spider had only got that big by being clever and not taking any unnecessary risks. As the old saying goes, there are old spiders and bold spiders, but there are no old, bold spiders. I had to come up with a strategy that would lure him out. All the time Felix was looking at me in anticipation. My solution was to catch a fly, no easy task in itself. I then placed the fly on the web, the spider instantly shot out to disable the fly and Felix then pounced on the spider, devouring it whole, and then just for good measure, the fly as well. The things I have to do for him! I can picture him now during those long summer days, lying in the back garden, fast asleep in the summer sun in company with his three cat companions, Molly, Polly and Dolly… his own little harem. Some cats have all the luck. S
omeone once said to me, he wouldn’t mind being a cat because it’s a life of luxury.
Well TV watching over for me, it was bed as usual at 11pm after the news. Not that I slept much that night, thinking about how I was going to make the maximum amount of money in the minimum amount of time out of my new find. I bet I had no more than five hours sleep, but that was enough; I was up like a lark as usual the following morning.
On opening the curtains, a beautiful sunny day greeted me. Not a cloud in the sky. I had formulated my plan and my mind was made up. I would go to London, case out the banks, the bigger the better. Then, in the dead of night, I would Transport myself into a bank vault and help myself to as much cash as I could carry in a couple of sacks. They say God helps them who help themselves and that was exactly what I intended to do. First things first, though. I phoned work to say I wouldn’t be coming in any more; no more working for somebody else for me.
I got Kev to Transport me to a secluded spot in Hyde Park. Why drive or get the train when