|[Blog] You Can't Always Get What You Want - Betting Tips for Rolling Stones.|
Written by SE1blue on Thursday, 8th Dec 2011 18:16
When I first started supporting Ipswich, I wanted them to win every week and they very nearly did. I was lucky to begin following Town when Sir Bobby was in charge. These days, I still want us to win every single game, but that’s not happening right now. But life has taught me not to get too upset, because like Mick Jagger once said, you can’t always get what you want.
When I was seven, I wanted to go to my best friend Daniel’s party dressed as a cowboy. Billy the Kid, Butch Cassidy, Doc Holliday, I didn’t care which one, I just wanted to be a four-foot tall gunslinger.
Unfortunately, my mum thought it would be a much better idea to send me dolled-up as a bumblebee. I spent a hot afternoon running away from the other kids who were trying to swat me with rolled-up Beanos and old slippers. And it was murder trying to play Dead Lions with wobbly antenna! When I was ten, I dreamt of being the Milky Bar Kid. I even went for an audition. I was in with a really good shout as nature had already blessed me with blond hair, glasses and a penchant for rodeo.
What could possibly go wrong? The answer came when I had to shout out his famous tagline in front of three representatives from Nestle. “The Milky Ways are on me!” I cried, and watched a trio of heads drop into hands.
When I was a teenager all I wanted was a BMX. If there was one sure way to get a girlfriend in Sudbury, it was down at Roys car park on a Sunday morning performing tricks with your shiny two-wheeler. I thought that if I had a BMX, I’d be pumping more than just tyres, once I’d wowed the babes with a few ‘flinky-sunders’ and some ‘pinky-squeaks’.
Sadly, Santa was fully aware of my limited coordination and delivered me a second-hand Raleigh Chopper instead. So, no girls ever squeaked my pinky around the back of Roys next to ‘Deliveries’. At 14, I longed for bathroom floorboards that didn’t rattle quite so loudly when I was frantically ‘combing my hair’…
When I was 16, I wanted it to be perfect in every way. I wanted there to be soft music, white waves crashing onto the shore and her bikini to fall off when I whispered the words, “It might be my first time, but I promise you the best time,” (I know, I know, it needed to some work!). What I didn’t want was her little brother walking in and telling us the video was stuck before offering to help me wrestle his sister.
Shortly after I turned 17 I passed my driving test. When I got home my dad said there was a surprise in the garage for me. My legs turned to jelly, my heart started pumping out of my chest. My day really couldn’t get any better. I made my way up the drive, was it an MG? A Beetle? A Mini? A Jeep? Or possibly, dare I dream it, a Ford Capri?
“Oooooohhhh! It’s a brown Morris Marina with yellow plastic seats and only 160,000 miles on the clock! Thanks Dad."
However, this disappointment was only short-lived. A year later, I was off to university to gain myself a BA Honours in Love-Making. I put in hours of study and prep. I stuck my nose into books (the Daily Star and FHM), went to the gym (joined the university darts team) and set about giving myself a makeover (bought enough underpants for every day of the week).
Who could resist a guy with long, braided hair, hanging over his face, wearing a baggy jumper with sleeves that stretched down to his knees and black jeans with so many holes in them that he looked like a negative of Mr Blobby? Answer: about 99.9% of the female population of Ealing.
The world of employment proved equally unforgiving. With a degree in Tourism & Travel, I daydreamed of running a bar in the Caribbean with waitresses wearing grass skirts and coconut bras. But after a winter working in a youth hostel in Aberdeen I soon found myself behind an estate agents' desk in Colchester.
When I was 36 I hoped she might reply with “It’s alright, I’ve realised that I’m no longer in love with you either. Let's just go our separate ways”. I wasn’t expecting her to say “I HOPE YOU DIE. BUT NOT BEFORE I GO COMPLETELY MAD, MAKE YOU SPEND ALL OF YOUR MONEY ON A SOLICITOR AND THEN THROW YOUR FAVOURITE THINGS IN A RIVER”. Some people huh?
Last night I wanted six numbers. This, I figured, was my ticket out of dressing up as a Pharaoh in front of 30 screaming Year Threes. Sadly, I got one, and just spent a day of looking like Marilyn Manson dressed in a bed sheet.
Ipswich may have lost seven in a row, but from bumblebee to Pharaoh, I’ve learnt that you can’t always get what you want.
Here are this week’s predictions.
Bolton v Villa
Millwall v Cardiff
Watford v Leeds
Correct Score Prediction
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