MY references in this column to ‘Honest Nev’ (better known to those whose weaknesses do not include slow horses and fast women as bookmaker Neville Ahier), usually when I’m suggesting long odds against that lot in the Big House actually proving to be of more use than a chocolate fireguard,have perhaps led The Reader to believe that I am something of a betting man.

Nothing could be further from the truth if you exclude an annual (and usually unwise) investment in the Grand National, a fiver’s worth of tickets in the Christmas Lottery and a small share in the Jersey Hospice £1 million draw.

Oh yes, I almost forgot, and a couple of quid a week (between me and Herself) on the twice-weekly National Lottery, which we participate in by sending one of Herself’s relatives in England a cheque for £100 twice a year or thereabouts and he buys our tickets for the Wednesday and Saturday draws when he buys his own.

As an aside, I’m not too sure exactly how far I’d trust him. I’ve told him that if we come up on the lottery I’ll be on his doorstep demanding my ticket before the balls have stopped rolling. But given that our elected representatives are still faffing about holding talks about talks while the Isle of Man reached agreement with the UK about selling tickets yonks ago, beggars can’t be choosers.

We’ve been doing it since the National Lottery started, and while we’ve won nothing significant – two or three tenners a year and a couple of larger prizes, probably amounting to a hundred quid in total – I get £2 worth of pleasure every week just thinking what I’d do if we scooped a jackpot of several million.

Herself recently taught this computer-illiterate how to check the numbers on the internet, and last week I went solo, so to speak, while she was busying herself looking for Christmas presents (we’ve only just had Bonfire Night, for heaven’s sake) in the metropolis.

When I followed her instructions, the screen was filled with a notice headlined: ‘We think you’re outside the United Kingdom and the Isle of Man.’ Well, as I said to myself, too damned right, pal. I don’t know what the Isle of Man is like – wall-to-wall sheep and motorbikes, I’ve heard – but there’s no way I want to be in the UK, thank you very much.

However, the notice went on to read: ‘Please note that from 13 December the rules will change. As well as being a UK or Isle of Man resident, you must be physically located in the UK or Isle of Man when buying a ticket.’

So, where does that leave me and countless others living here (probably thousands of us, if the truth is known) who use family and friends living in the UK to buy our tickets for us?

I’m sorry but I don’t know the answer to that, but if anyone reading this does, then perhaps they could drop me a line.

I want to continue enjoying my weekly two quid’s worth of fun, but if my boat comes in and there’s a big fat cheque for a few million awaiting collection by yours truly – always assuming that Herself’s cousin isn’t already going through security at Heathrow on his way to see his bank manager in Zurich or the Cayman Islands – and there’s also going to be some jobsworth from Camelot reading small print and tearing up the cheque, then I will not be best pleased.

Something in the back of my mind is telling me that we might well be breaking the law here by doing what we (and many others) do, but given the jobsworth mentality that exits among some of the hired help, I have no doubt that if that is the case, I am going to find out about it pretty damned quick.

LAST week’s ‘News from the Honorary Police’ disclosed that a Vingtenier from St Lawrence had spent a whole afternoon grinding the ends off pencils so that they could be safely given to youngsters (and, presumably, adults) at the Jersey Evening Post’s Homelife Show the previous weekend.

One of my earliest recollections of the honorary police is being out with a crowd of the lads and someone passing around this sheet of paper purporting to be the entrance examination for that august body. The first question read something along the lines of: There have been six kings of England called George. Name them. The second question asked something similar in relation to kings named Henry.

The late Vernon Tomes – an after-dinner speak par excellence – used to ask in his deadpan fashion why it was that the honorary police always went around in threes. The answer, as he used to say, was that there was one to read out the car number, the other to write it down and the third was there on the orders of the Constable to keep an eye on the two intellectuals.

Many of them actually do sterling work and it’s probably not fair to make fun, but as this bit of nonsense and lack of common sense surely demonstrates, they really don’t do much to help themselves.

As regards the pencils, I feel a bit sorry for the real health and safety people, and not only because building sites and other workplaces would be more dangerous without them. I doubt very much whether this ludicrous edict emanated from them at all.

AND finally …. As someone else is fond of saying, you couldn’t make it up. The Privileges and Procedures Committee want the names of every non-member referred to in all States transcripts between 2005 and 2009 to be removed.
I can’t wait to see the job advertisement, not to mention the salary being offered for this latest mindless bit of nonsense. That lot really are a waste of space and money – our money.