I'll bet you a fiver that you can't name the Crystal Palace FC shirt sponsor. The odds are two to one – and you can double your money if you can also name the Bournemouth shirt sponsor.

How about a seven-club accumulator, throwing in Stoke City, Watford, West Brom, Sunderland and West Ham, with cumulative odds of a very big number to one?

If it helps, the seven clubs have one thing in common – they are all sponsored by betting companies.

No idea?

Well, Palace and Bournemouth are both Mansion, Watford 138.com, West Brom TLCBet, Sunderland Dafabet, West Ham Betway and Stoke bet365.

Most Premier League clubs also have an 'official betting partner', which sounds like somebody who goes to the bookies with you, but is of course another way to encourage people to put their money on the line.

Norwich City's partner – and the sponsor of the Barclay Stand – is Coral. Not that you'd ever catch me saying the two things in the same sentence. The Barclay will always be the Barclay – just as the River End is the River End, not the Norwich and Peterborough Stand.

It's about shared identity and heritage, which is something that every football fan has in common. Not that many clubs seem particularly fussed about such things, nor have too many scruples about which firms are allowed to have their names emblazoned on the shirts, stands and stadia.

The latest move in the name game is at Stoke City, where the Britannia Stadium will soon be renamed the bet365 Stadium.

It makes my blood boil.

It is no secret that football long since sold its soul to the god of money. You only have to look at transfer fees, wages, ticket prices and TV deals to know that.

But the clubs' cosy relationship with betting firms is a step change from sad to deeply disturbing.

For betting can be a genuine menace.

Its growing association with football – including the endless TV adverts for betting firms during matches, urging people to 'bet in play, naaa' – gives the companies the chance to gain some reflected glamour. They do it because they know it makes sense: it's a safe bet to invest £10m in sponsorship when you know the returns will be much more than that.

There was a time when cigarette firms sponsored sporting events. The habit was forcibly kicked by legislation, because there was an understandable concern that the juxtaposition of sport and ciggies was tempting people to smoke, which damaged their health.

I would argue that the epidemic of betting firm sponsorships is equally a menace – but this time to people's mental health and bank balances.

Premier League clubs do not need the money these firms offer. They have plenty of money already, and could afford to take the moral high ground – or at least climb a little way above the moral low ground.

It won't happen, though, which is why I'd like to see betting and sport forced to exist at arms'-length – which would at least improve the odds of people avoiding damage.

What hidden gems are lurking around here?

As a proud Norfolk man, I like to think that there are few landmarks and locations that have passed me by.

I'm no Keith Skipper, I admit, but I do know Beeston Bump from Beeston Hyrne and Lion's Mouth from Panther Brewery.

However, my pride has been punctured. And I have to confess that I'm a long way short of being an expert on the sights and scenes of Nelson's County.

On Sunday I spent most of a crisp sunny day with friends on the north Norfolk coast. After walking along Wells Quay (which I know about) and having brunch on the Albatros (check), we passed The Maltings (check) to do a bit of mooching in the town.

Next, we drove past the Wells to Walsingham Light Railway (yes, I've been on it) and into Warham (check) for a drink in the garden at The Three Horseshoes (first visit, but I knew of it).

And then my assurance came crashing down. For one of our party declared that there were the remains of an Iron Age fort nearby. He had to be wrong, of course, as there was no way it could exist without me being told about it.

We went to explore (after drying out a teenage member of the group who had fallen into the River Stiffkey). And, lo and behold, the crafty Iron Age folk really had gone and built a fort without keeping me in the loop.

In typical Norfolk style, it was no fuss (hidden up a remote lane) and no frills (grass embankments and dry moats with just a single sign for interpretation). But to me it had the joy of the new and the wonder of the unexpected.

As if to settle me down, we then went to the familiar surroundings of the Dun Cow at Salthouse, where – like a Kensington dandy – I ate spam chips, though did not wear a hat at a jaunty angle.

The discovery that I have much left to discover gave me an immediate desire to discover more.

That was only reinforced on Wednesday, when a story about a University Challenge question led me to see for the first time a photograph of Burgh St Peter Church.

The tower is more like a temple in Iraq than a Church of England rural place of worship, with its extraordinary ziggurat tower.

Again, why didn't anybody tell me about it? And what else have you all been keeping a secret?

I've got a strong desire to travel the world and see wonderful sights. That desire will never change. But it's good to know that I've still got a long way to go in my own county.

So, while I'm like egg and cress (on a roll), give me some suggestions of places to see, please.