The man who gives away a third of his income

Would you give up a luxury to save a life?

Toby Ord has been giving away a third of his income for quite some time. A 33 year old academic at Oxford, he allows himself £18,000 a year, and donates the rest to charity.

"I’d always been idealistic about helping others", he says. "People would say “if you think that why don’t you give all your money to people in poor countries?" I think this was meant to make me shut up."

Instead he started giving away a large sum each year, and in the process set up a campaign - Giving What We Can - to encourage others to give away at least 10 per cent of their earnings.

Ord's subject is philosophy, and he came to the decision in a philosophical way. "I was writing on the subject of luxuries, and I came across the question of whether we should forgo a luxury if it would save a life. I realised this decision happens in our lives all the time."

"I was reading [the philosophers] Peter Singer and Thomas Pogge. The two of them think furiously about the problems of the world today. They both took their ideas very seriously and gave away a large proportion of their incomes. I decided I was going to make a commitment to give money to poor people."

To his surprise, people soon contacted him to see if they could do the same thing - and Giving What We Can was born.

"I'm not a natural leader for such an organisation", Ord says, describing himself as "more of a theoretician". But he has a very clear vision for the project.

"For me it [giving away a large percentage of income] doesn’t seem too odd. We literally have a choice to save hundreds of lives."

Yes, but giving money to charity never seems quite as straightforward as that. Can we ever be sure that what we give is really saving a life?

He agrees that would be more motivational if there was a "clear line of operation", and that the path from your wallet to saving someone's life can sometimes look "messy". "But if your money goes on, say, 200 mosquito nets in a malarial area there is no question. You will save a life."

What about the horror stories, the charity money that never makes it, the corrupt organisations that divert aid to their own ends?

"There are lots of rather garbled stories about problems with aid. These are bit stupid. The whole of the world is paying billions of dollars in aid, and people point to one or two things that go wrong. It is quite easy to find these problems which then act as excuses for not giving", he says.

"There is a perfect storm of excuses for forgetting about charities."

He admits that some charities are more effective than others, though.

"Charities can often benefit from thinking of effectiveness more. One of the targets for criticising them is the amount of money that goes into  administrative costs – but this is a bad measure of ineffectiveness - an organisation might need that level of spending on admin. I do think organisations should think about how they can help people more. There is a big academic literature on this. They should focus on outputs, and  not get hung up on brand – for example they should be prepared to  change the disease they are working on, if they could help more people that way."

French beggars. Photograph: Getty Images

Martha Gill writes the weekly Irrational Animals column. You can follow her on Twitter here: @Martha_Gill.

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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war