The Local Vicar, a Flutter, and the Folly of Gambling Regulation

I know Reverend Nick Devenish. I saw him at Midnight Mass at Christmas. He might be wrong on God, but he’s right on betting. My soul is damned if there was ever a God, but in the meantime, I’d still quite like the right to have a flutter on the 3:30 at Cartmel without handing over my bank statements like I’m applying for a mortgage.

And yet, here we are, in a Britain where a man of the cloth now makes more sense on gambling policy than the people in charge of it. The Reverend, whose parish includes the historic Cartmel racecourse, blesses racehorses, understands human nature, and—crucially—recognises that betting is not the apocalyptic societal ill that the government, the Gambling Commission, and self-appointed health experts want us to believe.

His view, articulated with the calm authority of a man who’s spent time around both bookmakers and sinners, is simple: gambling can be harmful for some, but most punters enjoy it responsibly, and if you push them too hard with overregulation, they’ll simply bet underground. A perfectly reasonable stance. Which, of course, makes it utterly unacceptable to the bureaucrats who seem intent on turning betting into a dystopian exercise in state control.

The Racing Post's second Big Punting Survey confirms what anyone with an ounce of common sense could have predicted—punters are sick of it. Affordability checks are infuriating, black-market bookies are having their best year since prohibition, and the government is strangling an industry that props up British racing, fuels Treasury coffers, and—lest we forget—brings a bit of fun to millions.

Thou Shalt Not Bet – Unless the State Approves It

Regulators, politicians, and their ever-smug allies in public health have spent years painting gambling as a "public health issue," something akin to an airborne virus that requires urgent intervention. No longer is it a matter of personal responsibility, nor a question of free choice—no, the state must step in and ensure that you, the punter, are protected from your own reckless ways.

And so, we now have the absurdity of bookmakers demanding bank statements and payslips before allowing a £10 bet on the Grand National. The result? A predictable surge in punters using black-market bookmakers who don’t ask for documentation, don’t care about your spending limits, and don’t offer a shred of consumer protection.

Over a third of the highest-staking bettors—those who pour vital money into British racing—have turned to the black market in the past year. Because, astonishingly, when you make something difficult to access through legal means, people don’t stop doing it; they just find another way. You’d think the government might have learned this from, say, every failed prohibition effort in history. But no.

Reverend Devenish understands this in a way that policy-makers apparently do not. "If we took a fairly puritanical view, which might be that gambling was made illegal, it would just go underground," he says. "It’s all well and good having safeguards and setting these limits, but people who are now being switched off are just finding other places and betting underground."

The man is right. The more the state tries to crush legal betting, the more it fuels the unregulated, hidden market. And who suffers? Not just punters, but racing itself.

If the Bookies Can’t Win, Neither Can Racing

The impact on horse racing cannot be overstated. The sport relies on punters to fund its very existence, and when those punters are driven away by an overzealous nanny state, the consequences are severe. The industry loses money, prize funds shrink, racecourses struggle, and jobs are lost. Meanwhile, those who genuinely have gambling problems—who might have been helped under a sensible system—are instead left to the wolves of the black market, where no one will intervene until their situation is catastrophic.

It is a farce, and not the funny kind.

And yet, in Westminster and among the smug crusaders of public health, the response will not be to admit fault. No, they will instead insist that the solution is even more regulation. Perhaps next, they’ll require you to submit an essay on financial literacy before placing a bet, or maybe a reference letter from your boss confirming that you can be trusted with discretionary spending.

Freedom to Bet, Freedom to Lose

At its core, this is a question of personal responsibility. Reverend Devenish, a man whose day job involves helping those genuinely in need, understands that some people will always struggle with addiction—whether it be gambling, alcohol, or buying terrible designer trainers on Klarna. But the answer is not to infantilise an entire nation in the name of protecting the few.

"What is wrong with setting aside a certain amount of money?" he asks. Nothing. Absolutely nothing—except that it assumes people are capable of making their own decisions, which is an idea deeply offensive to those who believe the state must always intervene.

And so, we find ourselves in a peculiar reality where the vicar—once the traditional enemy of the betting man—now stands as one of the few voices of reason. He understands that betting is an integral part of British life, that it should be done in the open where problems can be addressed, and that punters have the right to take risks.

The question is, why don’t the people in charge understand this?

Perhaps we should hand the regulation of gambling over to the clergy. It’s hard to imagine they’d do a worse job.