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Betfair Great Posts
_ Betting shop characters (Part Four)
HENRY the Seventh
23 Aug 11:27 Rob Roy
I was working in Aberdeen over twenty years ago
and, if Perth races was not on, would often end up spending my few
days off in a betting shop - usually Morrisons. I got to know quite
a few of the regulars, including Andy, who had spent forty years as
a top waiter in New York. He admitted coming back home with very
little - mainly because of the American divorce laws, and a bit of a
fondness for gambling. He said that he once calculated that over
those forty years he had received at least £300,000 in tips, and
reckoned, had he invested the tip money alone on the stock market or
in property, he would have been worth at least £2 million. To me it
seemed the only thing he retained was his Scottish accent.
Another regular was Rob, who I Christened, Rob
Roy. He spoke in a machine gun-like staccato manner, and it was
sometimes difficult to pick up everything he said. When he was
talking to you, sentences usually ended with, or were punctuated by,
the expression, "yer c_nt". It was yer c_nt this, yer c_nt
that, all the time. If he spoke to you for three or four of minutes,
that expression would come out at least a dozen times. Rob grew up
in the tenement slums of Glasgow in the 1930`s, and so it was
probably picked up as part of the everyday banter, just as cockneys
regularly intersperse their conversations with, "yer know"
or, "know what I mean".
One Saturday I was standing in the betting shop
reading the form, and two of the other customers began talking about
Rob. Apparently about four years previously he had been made
redundant and had received a big pay-off. However, he lost it all
gambling - and in a very short space of time. This led to rows and
eventual divorce from his wife. They sold the house and split the
proceeds. Rob was doing his share in the betting shops, and
apparently was down to his last couple of thousand. No wonder he had
been in a bad mood the previous week - he was standing at the corner
of the glass counter for most of the afternoon and would bang the
glass and start effing and blinding at the manager and staff when
yet another hot favourite got stuffed. They tolerated his behaviour
because obviously they were coining it.
There was a shop that used to sell rolls and
baps for just 1p each - they were from the supermarkets, and were
one day past sell-by date. I used to go there myself - never could
resist a bit of value - and with a slice of cheese and some pickle
in them, they tasted as if fresh.
One day I met Rob in there. He came out with it
all and told about his misfortunes and how stupid he`d been. How he
once had a good redundancy pay-off, a house of his own and not a
care. Now he had lost it all and was on the dole and living in a
shared rented room. He asked me if he could borrow £30, which I
gave him, even though my two-year contract was up in six weeks and I
was heading back down south. After I handed over the money, I
realised the prospect of getting it back was pretty slim; but I had
done well for myself in Scotland, and wasn`t overly bothered, also I
felt sad for Rob, who, apart from his shortcomings, was a decent
fellow. He had also been muttering things like, "I feel like
dipping somebody`s pockets". Things had got bad.
A few days days before I left Aberdeen I went
into Morrisons` betting shop, and Rob was there. He had lost the
previous weeks dole money in one day and told me he had been living
off the penny rolls and tinned peaches for the past few days, and
could I lend him a fiver to buy some fish and chips. I handed him
the fiver, but just before he left the shop, spotted a dog that he
had backed the previous week and said it had been unlucky in
running. "It`s in Trap 6 today and will get a clear run"
he confidently said. He walked up to the counter and put £3 on the
dog - it came 4th. Rob walked out, then returned ten minuted later
with just a bag of chips. That Trap 6 had obviously eaten the fish.
Four days later I drove out of Aberdeen, and
although I`d be badly missing beautiful Perth - the racecourse and
the City - I would be returning to my familiar stamping grounds of
Ascot, Newbury Sandown etc. It had been a hard but very worthwhile
two years, and I felt good. It could sometimes be tough being an
Englishman working up there (perhaps relations are better now), and,
apart from a couple of nasty incidents, I got on ok.
I havn`t since returned to see "the lights
of old Aberdeen" but shall do so one day when I revisit Perth.
I suppose I`ll then have to call into the betting shops and see if I
can find Rob. Perhaps he`ll be having a good day and return my £35.
If he`s having a really good day, I`ll tell him
that the loan was linked to the annual rate of inflation - err,
that`s twenty three years at an average of 6%......that`s.........£££££££££££
Isle of Tights
23 Aug 12:50
Roy ''The Bore''--Youngsters beware!!
On the face of it a nice enough fellow and was
watching him(must have been about 20, I suppose) and he had a nice
pick up on some f/c doubles. Started chatting as kids are easily
impressed and he gave me a rundown of how the 5th and the 7th races
were UNLUCKY(a word Roy overused in years to come) as he had a
1st&3rd and a 2nd&3rd......eh!???
Over the years he seemed to plague me with his
BADLUCK stories and being a Northerner he would pronounce loser as
''LOWZA'-a dreaded phrase to me now.........
Try and avoid this type of Punter kids, as
boredom may be terminal!!!!!!!!!!!!
Cosmo Kramer
23 Aug 13:14
Has there ever been a sitcom set in a bookies?
With all these characters we would never run
out of material.
Isle of Tights
23 Aug 14:27
Yes it's called Eastenders.
Fick Nuckalldragger Fill was offering Evens a
boy and 2/1 a girl.........DERRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!
Aspirin 24 Aug 09:34 Jack The Hat
Local wino. Three sheets to the wind daily by
11am, looked a right state too. So named for the ridiculous trilby
he always wore in all weathers, despite the fact that he looked like
a tramp and his clothes were filthy. Would come in my shop in
various states of drunkeness to have a punt and back something in
every single race. Amazingly though he would generally punt at least
a bottle at a time, usually a monkey, retrieving his balled up wedge
of cash from his sock where he kept it! he'd stick the slip on the
counter & then disappear from sight to retrieve said cash from
his sock, then dump a screwed up ball of notes on the counter for me
to count out (he was always to drunk to be able to count). He'd
disappear from the shop every 10 mins to go get another drink &
then come back again, until he got to the stage where he couldn't so
much as pick up a slip, let alone write on it, so he'd come to the
counter, slur & dribble his way through what he wanted expecting
you to write it down, then do the usual disappearing from sight to
retrieve the ball of cash from his sock which again, he would have
to shove on the counter for me to count out. He'd do all his cash
& stagger out again, only to be waltzing through the front door
at 10.30am the next day!
SKINTY JOHN
In a central london *******, near an office of
mine in the late 90s, I got to know a young lad named Skinty John, a
rail-thin black man in his late 20s. He was smart, well-spoken; I
remember he loved World War I histories, and would always be lugging
a thick book along with the R.Post. Anyway, his favourite line was,
"I'm dead broke." He'd tell everyone within earshot,
"I'm dead broke," as if it was a sudden development,
though I never knew him to have more than a pound or two to his
name. Anyway, if I was having an all right day, I'd slip him a pound
or two, which he'd proceed to **** away on a greyhound race. He'd
always bet the dogs and he'd always bet the tricasts, and always
str8 up. Being a decent capper, he'd inevitably get two or even
three of the dogs picked right but not in the right order.
Anyway, one Friday evening in summer, I walk in
to the shop and I'm shocked to see Skinty John holding court, waving
around a ludicrously fat rolled wad of cash, mostly 50s, tied with a
thick rubber band. He's drunk (something I had never seen before),
and he runs up to me, practically hugs me, shows off his bank wad,
and proceeds to tell me that he started the day betting the first
BAGs race that morning and hit four str8 tricasts, and he magically
kept running it up by betting higher and higher stakes. The dog
races roll on, and he's betting like a madman. There's a crowd of
his soused mates around, egging him on, and he's betting the dogs as
usual -- only now he's graduated to 10 and 20 pound str8 tricasts.
"This is madness," I tell him.
"Take the money and go home -- now"
He shoots me one of those looks. His mates just
ridicule me. The two old men behind the class just smile and shake
their heads as Skinty John keeps shoving the cash through the slot.
I can't bear to watch this lunacy and so I pick
up and leave.
The next Monday, I stop in the shop late in the
afternoon, and sure enough Skinty John is there, sober as a judge,
studying the greyhound form. He greets me with a forlorn smile and
these words, "I'm dead broke." Turns out he did his
bankroll that evening, and spent the weekend in the shop, nursing
his hangover and bumming 50p coins
Aspirin
24 Aug 09:34 Willy from Loughgilly (reprise)
Willy passed away on Friday evening, aged 57.
He had been complaining of a pain in the back and was diagnosed with
cancer of the pancreas which had spread to his liver, 10 days before
his death. He never drank or smoked and hadn`t been in hospital
since he was born. He was a harmless guy who lived alone with his
brother. He walked the 25 miles round trip from Loughgilly to Newry
every day, without fail, for as long as I can remember ( circ. 25
years ). He would have done so when the troubles were at their most
severest and Willy, being a protestant, would have been treading on
the most dangerous ground imagineable, yet he would have told you
that he never had as much as a dirty look in all those years.
Aspirin
24 Aug 09:35
Thanks to all these characters mentioned, their posters, and
also those who never had names at the start of their posts
The Sentry
CATWEAZEL
THE FORECASTER
The Muppet
LOTTO LADY
The Fortune Teller
HARRY THE LIAR (R.I.P.)
FRANKIES FAN
THE DISGRACE
ROBERT 'CRACKERJACK' AGIMBO.
DAMBUSTER
SMELLIE NELLIE
FAVOURITE BACKERS
GEORGE THE GREEK.
THE RACE COMMENTATOR
THE CARTOON RACE AFFICIONADO
MARKET GEORGE
LUCKY FRED
NENINIT (silent T)
MAD VIC
COLIN
THE PICNIC BOYS
GEORGE
BERN
PUFFING BILLY
JONAH
THE HOGGER
MR HIEROGLYPHICS
'EAVY 'ANDED 'ARRY
MR SQUINTS
MR.5P DOUBLES
THE DANCER
GRAND NATIONAL PUNTER
MR THANKING YOU
MICK THE BUTCHER
Hans (rip)
The Guy who likes to look like he is a shrewdie
Piggy in the middle
CHOCOLATE TASH
THE GRIM REAPER
SNOTTY RON
THE ARMY AND NAVY GIRLS
OXY YEN
ALL ON JIM
superstitious sally
FORM BOOK FRED
Big Stewie.
HAPPY DAYS
Yellow nutkin
AYRTON SENNAPOD
The Toilet man
Betty Etfair
The Kfin Dog Owner
BIG COL
"Odds on" Theo
THE SYNDICATE WATCHER
The CHIP SHOP MAN
Terry
SLIPPERS
SICK MICK *****
NERVOUS DOG FORECAST MAN
MAXXIE
NANNYGOAT PLACE
MAKE ME LUCK BOSS
10p SHORT
MONEY GONE, MONEY GONE
The Accountants
Charlie the Chinaman
SHY
THE FINE GENTLEMAN
THE EX-JOCKEY
THE BANK MANAGER
AUGUSTO
THE PRODIGY
DANGER HORSE
FIGGIS
EYES IN BACK OF HEAD MAN
THE DOGGY MEN
Typically Tropical
One Out Tom.......
The Professional........
Colonel Klink
Finally, from Oz, Ronnie
'IT'LL BUY ME A COFFEE'
The Knitter
RAY
JOAN COLLINS !
'JOES MUMS MATE'
MAKE UP LADY
STINKY NIGE
Time Lord
PIKEY JIM
JUST PICK 7
Union Jack Boy
MR COULDNT TELL YOU
Mr Go home my son, go home
Irish Peter
Jack The Hat
'IS THAT AN A?' Formerly known as ' CHECK IT
AGAIN PLEASE MATE.' (R.I.P.)
SKINTY JOHN
Aspirin
24 Aug 09:38
TEN2FOLLOWER 29 Jan 20:28
Excellent thread everyone. Many of these
stories are good enough for publishing. With all of these phone and
internet accounts we are going to lose these types of people.
Bookies shops are changing for the worse with all of the Burberry
gang on the machines.
I am going to print this thread off before it
dies. But lets keep it on screen for as long as possible
TheBigDogg 29 Jan 21:07
Best thread in BF history, as I've said.
These stories should be published.
Well done, everyone
BillKiller 29 Jan 21:09
The fees for the copyright issues would keep
Orioles in wigs for the rest of his life.
Delightful 30 Jan 01:57
AITL, I've been told to tell you this,
"Great thread big man, Sabre approves and will add some when he
comes back".
kingbrief 30 Jan 14:34
ROBERT 'CRACKERJACK' AGIMBO.
Has just knocked Oliver Reed off 10th spot in
my own personal 'Greatest People Of All-Time' list.
Tommy Toes 30 Jan 14:48
King brief, I've already asked AITL to pass on
my regards to Crackerjack the next time he sees him, on another
thread.
(I told him Tommy)
He's obviously a great bloke
Thanks to all concerned.
CanaryYellow
25 Aug 15:09
I was Union Jack Boy. Coming to think of it didnt i write
that too?
HENRY the Seventh
25 Aug 21:28
Irish/Canadian Pat
I have attended the winter racing at the
Florida tracks quite a few times, so there is too much to write
about, so I`ll stick to the visit I made about eighteen years ago,
when I teamed up with an Irishman who had lived in Canada for the
previous twenty years. He was a 55 year old single man - very tall
and thin as a rake. Unfortunately Pat suffered from diabetes and had
to go away from time to time to give himself an insulin injection.
He used to go down to Florida every winter to get away from the cold
Canadian winters.
When in Canada, he was a bloodstock agent to a
couple of very wealthy Canadians of Irish extraction. I asked Pat
what was the most he had spent on a yearling. His reply was,
$400,000. "Was it any good", I asked. "No" was
the reply - he was a man of few words. "Did any of your
purchases turn out to be good class horses"?, I enquired.
Again, "no" was the reply. Crikey, I thought, I`ve been in
the wrong job all these years. He was based at Greenwood - one of
the best Canadian racecourses.
Pat was a member of the Total Abstinence
Society, and never smoked or drank alchohol. However, he certainly
more than made up for missing out on those vices, with another sin -
gambling. I`ve never seen a gambling addict like him. He claimed to
have no property or possessions, save the few neccessities he had
brought with him to Florida. Every day he was dressed in a thick
charcoal grey or navy blue cotton suit, clean shirt and tie, and
highly polished black shoes. I suppose I used to dress up a bit
myself - I`ve always believed in looking smart at the races. As a
pair, we must have stood out like a sore thumb among all the other
tropically dressed racegoers. The many Americans who I got to know
used to call me England.
I travelled over to the United States on a 90
day visa. I went racing on 88 of those days - the only two days I
missed was the day I arrived, and the day I departed. My motel -
owned by a very friendly German lady - was just a ten minute bus
ride from Gulf Stream Park Racetrack - much further of course to
Calder and Hialeah. The last named has, I think, closed. To get to
Hialeah you had to go down a street unoffically named "Crack
Alley", so called because of the drug dealing in that area.
Many racegoers were mugged and left badly beaten by the gangs of
addicts - quite a few were killed. It was a beautiful racecourse,
and in times gone by was the racecourse preferred by the socialites,
actors and glamorous actresses.
Pat was always on the bus when I got on; we
never said very much until we arrived at the track - I admit I often
had a bit of a hangover. The entrance fee for the day was dirt
cheap. I had bought a book of tickets for the whole meeting and it
worked out at about $1 a day - my 3 month bus ticket was equivalent
to 65 cents per day, so in sterling terms, transport costs and entry
came to around £1 per day.
There were of course lots of local racegoers,
or fans, as they called themselves, and some quite amusing ones too.
One who used to make me laugh was a guy who I nicknamed, "Bigshot".
He always dressed loud: white clothes, spats over his shoes, huge
gold rings and bracelets, gold rimmed glasses and a big cigar. He
never talked in dollars; it was never less than millions, and would
often progress into billions - ten billion, 20 billion and ever
upwards, and as loud as you like; always complaining about the lack
of big owners, like those of old - the Whitneys, Vanderbilts,
Rockefellers etc. We eventually became irritated by him, but had a
good laugh in the end when it was discovered that he was a warehouse
labourer.
We would always go for a meal before racing
began. Pat would often talk about his times in Ireland; he was
friendly with all the big, long established names - the O` Briens,
Dreapers, Weld, Magnier, Oxx etc. He had never been back to his home
country once since he left, and one day said he would love to
return. Quite why he had never been back to visit I don`t know, and
I never asked. He introduced me to some of his Canadian friends -
mostly trainers and a few jockeys. They included one of the Doyles -
father is famous bloodstock dealer, Jack Doyle; top jockeys Sandy
Hawley and Dave Penna are names I also remember.
I got to know a few of the track trainers - one
or two who`s knowledge, it has to be said, of horses, the training
of horses, and the sport in general could be written on the back of
a postage stamp. I asked one of them, Bill, how he managed to get
owners, despite the fact he never trained winners. He said: "I
just bull_hit my way around". Bill introduced me to an ex
trainer who had the good fortune to train a Kentucky Derby winner.
He was now totally skint - and looked it. Rumour was that he had
become a "Stooper". These are the men who stay behind
after the racing has finished and walk along the stands and
concourse, stooping down all the time to pick up the discarded Pari
Mutuel tickets, and then taking them home to sort through later
(probably all night, looking at the bagloads some of them took away)
hoping to find some winning tickets - quite a regular occurence
apparently.
Another fellow I got to know well was Bob. He
used to eat and sleep the game - reckoned he was a pro punter, or
professional handicapper as they are known in the States. Paddy,
myself and Bob would usually stand together at paddockside. Bob was
a nice bloke and a character and, in his southern drawl, would
chivvy-up every jockey in every race as he passed by on his mount:
"Go get em Larry, you`re lookin good Jerry, Mr Jean Cruget -
mighty fine, all the best Bobby - bring him on home" etc.
Bob`s pro punting did not stand the test of
time, however, as three years later, when I next bumped into him on
the racecourse he was selling the Daily Racing Form from a news
stand. He also earned extra cash by leading up some of the horses
from the barns down behind the backstretch to the paddock for a few
dollars.
When the racing began, Paddy would go into
overdrive; he would start off by doing the Pick 6, Pick 3, and on
each individual race he would do the Trifecta and Perfecta - he
would then add these selctions to others in the race and would Box
them, Wheel them and God knows what else. He so seldom made a profit
on a race, and regularly drew a blank. He used to get so excited
during a race, swaying around like a tall tree; he also had the
unfortunate habit during a tight finish of violently shanking the
change inside his trouser pocket, so that for all the world he gave
the appearance of committing an obscene act.
If it was a photo, we would go inside and watch
the replay. In the betting hall there was a little Hispanic who used
to always be shouting at the top of his voice and giving a vituoso
performance - holding up his fingers and playing to the hispanic
section. It seemed as if he was acting as bookmaker and taking bets
on the outcome. Pat would wind him up when he disagreed. One day,
Pancho (I named him after the Cisco Kid`s sidekick) got mad with Pat
and spat at him and called him a Ratfink (an American insult name).
Pat threw down $50 dollars on the floor as a bet. The hispanic threw
his fifty. The result was then announced - Pat was right. However,
the hispanic claimed he had nominated the winner. They started to
wrestle, but security men arrived and they were both taken away and
warned that if they breached the gaming rules again they would be
handed over to the police and that full charges would be brought
against them both. As it was, they were banned from the course for a
day.
Pat could be very argumentative sometimes, but
that was just his way. We both were fans of the works of William
Shakespeare and were always throwing quote`s from plays at each
other during the day. For instance, if he said something like:
"Jack looks very smart today", I would reply: "The
apparel oft proclaims the man", and if I said, "I can`t
believe my horse lost that photo, I`m almost speechless, he would
say: "speak man, give sorrow words, the grief that whispers to
the o`er fraught heart and bids it break". It was great fun. He
was very into high culture and loved opera and religious music. I
once asked him what was the greatest moment in his life, and he
replied: "being at St Paul`s Cathedral and listening to
Beniamano Gigli singing the Panis Angelicus" (a solemn but very
tuneful piece of music sung at times during catholic Mass - I think.
I`m a protestant).
After the last race had been run, Pat and two
Canadian pals would then jump into a car and speed off to either
Hollywood or Flagler dog tracks for another fourteen races to wager
on - well pat would be anyway. I went with them on the odd occasion,
and it wasn`t really for me - not after so many horse races anyway.
Pat, however, would be firing with both barrels, as usual. He was
always cashing in cheques. I never asked him about his finances, but
the losses must have been horrendous.
We saw some good horses that year: Unbridled
won the Florida Derby, and went on to win a leg of the Triple Crown
- I think, and Sunday Silence beat Easy Goer in the Breeder`s Cup
Classic. The 2nd`s rider, Pat Day got a rough ride from the punters,
as they adjudged him to have ridden a bad race. For the next two
days sections of the crowd booed him as he came out onto the track
for each race. When I asked one of the more knowledgeable punters
why they insisted in continually jeering Pat Day, he replied,
"ah, that`s the two dollar punters doing that".
Unbridled has turned out to be a top class
sire, and Sunday Silence a great one - in Japan.
On a sad note that season, two grooms were shot
dead in their sleeping accomation. I cannot remember whether it was
Gulf Stream or Calder.The latter, I think. What the motive for the
killings was I never found out
I called my daily Florida routine the 5 B`s:-
1. Breakfast
2. Beach
3. Betting
4. Bar Rooms
5. Bed
Prior to going out to Florida on that occasion,
I`d had some fairly bad times, business and personal, but that three
months completely cleared out my head of all the bad stuff, and I
arrived back in Blighty to begin the struggle again.
I tried later to contact Pat, but to no avail
and never saw him again in later visits. I feared the worst, as he
sometimes looked so unwell - obviously the debilitating affects of
the diabetes. He made my visit that year so much more lively and
enjoyable than it would have been had I not met him. I often think
about Pat. He loved horses, and the racing - sometimes. He once said
he hated the game for what it had done to him financially and
personally, but would then say, "A bad day at the races is
better than a good day at the football match". He was a great
character.
Tommy Toes
27 Aug 01:41
Great story, Henry.
oggsbog
27 Aug 02:13
Henry, that was one of those posts that looks excessively
long when you first view it, but then you decide to read through it
properly, and feel humbled that you ever doubted the experience
would be worthwhile.
Wonderful post. Thank you.
HENRY the Seventh
27 Aug 10:16
Thanks men. I have written my postings as a racegoer and
betting shop punter only, and have never worked for a bookmaker,
unlike so many on this excellent thread who have been shop managers
for many years and have been used to dealing with lots of strange
and colourful characters, with their often extreme and eccentric
behaviour. It is a job that must require a lot of patience. It is
doubtful if there is any other sport in the world which throws
together such rich diversity from the broad spectrum of humanity.
Betting shop managers would probably make good psychoanalysts. Good
luck.
Tommy Toes
28 Aug 21:41
"Betting shop managers would probably make good
psychyoanalysts"
You may well have a good point there, Henry.
This is one of (if not the best) threads to
appear on Chit Chat.
It should be here permanently for people to
enjoy.
Whether for new forumites to enjoy, or for
people to reread it.
It certainly beats 99% of the tripe that is on
here lately.
Flantastic
14 Sep 12:43
where is aitl ?
Tommy Toes
15 Sep 01:16
Unfortunately, he's been permanently banned, Flan. This forum
needs him reinstated .
J P McEnroe 81
15 Sep 01:29
Definitely.Bring him back!
HENRY the Seventh
15 Sep 12:17
John The Philosopher
I first got to know John in the mid sixties. He
was in his middle fifties, not well dressed, but the same few
clothes he wore were always clean. He either rode his moped, or an
old black bike which had a basket on the front - I never knew him to
catch a bus. He smoked, drank and gambled - all three in moderation.
His beer was always in half pint glasses, making one half last a
long time. His roll-ups would come from other people`s discarded
dog-ends. John would quite unashamedly go round to all the ash trays
in the pub and pick out any dog-ends and store them in his old
tobacco tin, and would repeat this trick a second time later on.
Nobody seemed to take any notice of this habit, but then I suppose
John and his generation would have been around in the 1920/30`s
inter-war years during the Great Depression when this sort of thing
would probably have been quite normal.
John`s horse racing bets consisted of around
thirty selections per day from the two cards - two daily mid-week
fixtures was then the average. He would scribble his selections on
two or three old scraps of paper, with squares, circles, loops and
arrows all over the place, together with abbreviations showing the
different combination bets - Up and Down, Round Robins, Any To Come
etc. It would have been impossible for anyone else but him to
decipher the instructions.
John had lived in cheap lodgings for years with
an elderly couple. Apparently he had never showed the slightest
interest in women - he definitely wasn`t gay. John was almost
certainly what was once known as a "neuter", someone who
has no interest whatsoever in s-x, and fills his leisure time with
alternative interests - in John`s case, smoking, drinking and
gambling.
His occupation for most of his life was working
on the dustbin rounds - in the days when they had to lift and carry
heavy metal bins loaded with anything and everything, including
ashes. It was hard and heavy work on the rounds, and over thirty
years of lifting and swinging those bins up on his right shoulder
had worn out John`s right hip and damaged his lower vertibrae. He
was awarded a generous compensation package and pension by the
council and never had to work again
John was a bit of a philosopher on the side -
in the simplest of terms - and was always coming out with his usual
doom-laden sayings, such as: "If ICI doesn`t get you, then The
Bomb will", referring to the east-west tensions of the time and
the big chemicals firm, which was causing scares then with some
toxic leaks. He had lots of sayings and would have a habit of
talking to you in riddles too - especially when taking his regular
pinches of snuff, which would be heartily snorted up each nostril,
quickly followed by the hankerchief being flicked back and forth
under the nose - stand well back. He rarely looked at you when in
conversation, and often had the appearance of being in another
world.
John used to drive the local bookie mad with
his bets. This bookmaker was a real Timothy Tightar-e, with no
chairs or carpet provided - just a concrete floor and a hard bench,
no TV to view BBC or ITV coverage. There were no betting slips to
freely take - you had to ask for them. They were blank pieces of
poor quality paper, and when you wrote out the bet, you would hand
it over and it would be put through the till, which produced to
small receipts - one for you, and one to be stapled to the betting
slip, which was retained by the bookie.
In the wintertime there was no proper heating,
just an old parafine heater which seemed to give out more fumes than
heat. Perhaps that was the idea - get the punters drowsy and
stupified so that they will not be able to interpret the form
properly.
Whenever John walked in, this bookmaker`s face
would drop. John would always ask for six slips. It would sometimes
take an hour for him to write out his myriad of 5p combination bets
(240 pence to the £ back then), and the bookie would wearily put
them through his till. After John left, this bookmaker would
sometimes say something like: "He`s hard work, I can`t beat him
- always seems to get a big priced winner alongside several short
ones in at least one of his bets and it takes me longer to go
through his slips during the afternoon than the bets of a dozen
other punters put together".
In his own small way, John not only waged
financial war on the bookmakers, but a psychological one too. "Don`t
let the bug-ers grind you down" was one of his favourite and
oft repeated sayings. He certainly knew how to grind down this
particular bookie. John was a good man, if a little odd, with his
own special brand of philosophy on life. He was considered an
eccentric by many. Maybe, but still a bit too clever for some.
the £100 000 000 question
15 Sep 18:00
.QUALITY NOT ONE BAD READ.
AM I TOO EARLY
01 Oct 18:27
Trying to find the last SUPREME QUIZ quiz thread, not found
it yet, but found this...:)
johnn
01 Oct 21:44
A fantastic thread, a credit to all who have contributed.
Well done.
cannyman
01 Oct 21:51
Thank you johnn, still think Lucky Fred is the best.
johnn
01 Oct 21:52
Worrying how many lunatics were called John, cannyman :^O
cannyman
01 Oct 21:53
lol, just read Henry's piece which I hadn't before. Very well
written and nicely described.
AM I TOO EARLY
01 Oct 23:46
Henrys stories are longish, but well worth reading.
Tommy Toes
02 Oct 22:10
They are.
danniellasmincepies
10 Oct 18:48
.....Joes Cafe.....
Old guy always shuffling around bookies - has a
stoop, always wearing a flat cap...
my mate suggested we could rent the top of his
cap out to advertising.......hence
Joes Cafe !
jardine 10 Oct 21:40
I'm taking the day off tomorrow to read this thread - quality
AM I TOO EARLY
14 Dec 15:47
With thanks to Fred77 whose search tool is on the forum.
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