I helped to organise a race night for my wife and mother-in-law a few weeks ago for a charity that is very dear to their hearts. Well, it was probably the worst thing that I've ever done. The night was very successful; everyone had a great time and yours truly made the usual prat of himself by having one too many and insulting the local football team.

It happens, doesn't it? You just have to get up the following morning, dust yourself off and try to mend a few bridges.

So I did - but my malaise was caused because the evening had been sponsored by Boyle Sports, the bookmaker. And I'd convinced myself that a free bet was just what I needed.

But I know pretty much nothing about horse racing. My dad used to watch it religiously on TV when I was a kid, which totally put me off. I like going to the races and having a flutter when I'm there, although - generally - a granny-type bet on the Grand National is my limit.

Please hold the line
But that has all changed now. I still can't follow the form, but I have a phone account, which is bringing back a few memories of my trading days.

Armed with my free bet and €40 of my own money (I'm on a tight budget these days - long-gone are the multi-million gambles I once made), I had an each-way bet at the Galway races at 10/1 which romped home. All of a sudden, I had €300 and started thinking, probably mistakenly, that maybe this wasn't so difficult after all.

A few weeks later, with a couple of hours to kill in Dublin before catching the train back to Galway, I thought I might take a turn into the bookies. A two-mile walk became a four-mile stagger from bookmaker to bookmaker, placing bet after bet along the way.

I was winning a little - nothing major, but the balance was slowly inching higher. I got as far as Grafton Street and thought I'd test my new-found luck with a bigger wager. I started betting by phone on a horse at Chester called Claret And Amber at 5/4 about half-an-hour before the race.

As I continued my tour, the price kept drifting - so much so that, with 20 minutes to go, it was 2/1. I doubled the bet at 9/4. By the time the race took off, Claret And Amber was 11/4 but had touched 3/1. Another horse had been backed in from 11/1 to 9/2, which I thought was so typical of my luck.

I must have made a very funny sight in the shop: fearless Rogue Trader shitting himself over a €600 bet at a local bookmaker. But I was worried; I remembered markets crashing in Singapore much as Claret And Amber's had in the last 20 minutes, and there was a distinct feeling of déjà-vu.

However, much to my amazement, Claret And Amber looked really comfortable as the race started... and romped home about five lengths clear! Perhaps somebody does listen to my prayers now and then, and I'm not destined to be unlucky all my life, after all. I took the money and ran.

Yeah, right...
Well, I thought about it. But I ended up donating €150 straight away to the next race. A very timely reminder that I'm not that lucky, and also that it's simply not that easy. Writing for this magazine certainly has its benefits, but it's also reintroducing me to an environment similar to the one which caused me so much grief all those years ago. I have to say that I am enjoying it, though.

It's always important to have a reality check after you have a bit of good fortune. Mine came after I had finished some filming for a local television show, by which time the interviewer had spent a couple of days shadowing me. During that time we'd lost money playing poker, on the horses and on the stock markets.

At the end of the show, he politely asks whether it had ever occurred to me that I may not be any good at gambling after all, and should try a proper job. What, and miss out on all this fun I'm having? Never.