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Betfair
Great Posts - Betting shop characters (Part Five)
Perpetual 16 Aug 23:22 LONG NOSED BAR***RD
this well tanned grey haired chap can be found in the aldershot
area - loves a bet every race and annoyingly delights in keeping
every winning bet till last knockings.
every dog race
"come on 4 come on 4 - hes got this - come on 4 - oh 4 fks
sake - u stupid long nosed b@rstard"
verbally abusing a greyhound - now come on mate !!!
Aspirin 16 Aug 23:58 RAY Things were quiet in the shop, when one
summer evening Ray comes in. He was our biggest punter, and gets us
concerned. This particular evening, my (usually silent) partner
happens to be there, and he's given to worrying a bit at the best of
times, so he's all a panic with Ray there, and Ray knows it!
Ray has a couple of bets, and isn't winning, which is usually a
signal to up the stakes a bit.
Anyway my partner's Indian (Ordered before Ray's entrance)
arrived, He got a plate etc and sat at the table in the shop with
the food spread out in front of him. He's about half way through his
meal, when Ray stands between him and the main screen cheering the
leading horse home, a 20/1 shot, and he's the only punter in the
shop and he's cheering it home.
My partner now in a state of abject panic leaps up sending Indian
food flying in all directions, spilling his curry all over himself,
and says, in a shaking voice, "Ray. How much did you have on
it?"
Ray looks at him, and says. "Nothing, I didn't have a
bet"
==============================================================================
Taken from my own rare visit to a local bookies. Upon making
conversation, there calculated money making system was fascinating.
One particular favourite tip being to back Seb Sanders in yellow !.
Bets ranging from £1-£5, and annoyingly finding more winners than
me!!
JOAN COLLINS back in the 80's when i worked for ******* a lady
use to come in every lunchtime with her bets and sometimes used to
pay by cheque, the first time I served her I thought it was a
wind-up when I saw her name on the cheque . She owned 2 quite large
hotels and was obviously very wealthy and liked to live up to her
namesake by dressing in a ' dynasty ' style. She used to do pontoon
and mag . 7 bets and one day [Sat, glorious Goodwood meeting ] she
had 6 winners and had 22k to collect.
Came in on the Monday manager gave her the cheque and she gave us
both a tip, manager £2 , cashier {me } £1
Tight cow .
Aspirin 17 Aug 00:00 I have received a message from AITL to thank
Henry and the rest of you for your contributions to this thread.. :)
Tommy Toes 18 Aug 01:09 Saving.
Isle of Tights 18 Aug 08:26 George Nickless RIP Lovely man...used
to work with him at a Gov. Establishment and used to come in to the
Bookies when I started there. You would never get rich from punters
like George but the world was a happier place. He would put about 6
slips over and some would be for his Missus and some would be for
old Connie. You didn't have to look what meetings were on 'cos
George would have his corny joke like......... I'll expect racing
will be on today, as the Wetherby all right or-I'll get me money out
from my Perth Or this will win, something in the Ayr told me. Lovely
man!-which incidentally was one of HIS expressions. God
Bless!!!!!!!!
Aspirin 18 Aug 09:07 Middle-aged West Indian chap, quite well
dressed, looked like he wouldn't say boo to a goose. Well known
around Leicester for dropping his kecks and flashing his John Thomas
to all and sundry. Barred from all major supermarkets for causing
'extreme distress'. Gets a nudge a nudge from the cashier next to
me, 'He's just gone in the toilets!' Big sigh... 'Which twunt left
the bloody thing open?' Off I go with the spare key to check it out.
Open the door and there he is, trousers round ankles, Razzle in
hand. I look at him, he looks at me, jazz mag back in bag, trousers
pulled back up, and off up the stairs he went.
'JOES MUMS MATE' I used to work Saturdays for Roy Christie in one
of his shops back in the late 70s, and this old dear used to put on
a 2 x 10p each way yankees every Saturday. One day she came in and
had £5 on a horse to win instead. I joked to the manager 'She must
have a tip.' He looked at the bet, then phoned another independent
in town and backed the horse for himself. It won. It appears she
lived next to Joe Mercers mum and the tips were red hot. I was only
there for one and a half flat seasons but she must have had at least
one tip every three weeks, and never lost.
In a South London billies in the 90s, there was a most annoying
character who proclaimed to anyone and everyone, whether they were
listening or not, that he was "The best punter in London".
This one particular day he had backed a horse over the jumps, it
went well clear, 2 to jump and 25 lengths up, "go on my
cockeeeeerrrrrr, go on my son, in you go you beauty" . Over the
last and on to the run in still at least 20l clear "Woo Hoo,
get in, get in, I'm the best punter in London". All of a sudden
it appears that the horse is beginning to falter (cant remember its
name, although sure it had either the word, 'chocolate' or 'ice' in
it, maybe both) and the second is beginning to gain on it, although
it seems the beast will hang on. Picture the guy walking round the
bookies looking at the punters watching the race whilst shouting out
"Im the best punter in London", and the, by now whole shop
fixed on the screen willing the horse in second to get up, sure
enough it was gaining, but was it gaining fast enough? First one
punter murmurs a bit of encouragement for the horse in 2nd, then
another , then another, then as it becomes apparent that it was
going to get up the whole shop, even those on the one in front were
screaming home the second, as it hit the line to get up by a SH,
best punter in London's face was an absolute picture. He was staring
at the screen and the punters in disbelief. With that he turned
around to everybody and announced "Well, I'm still the best
Each Way punter in London"! Cue mass hysterics, as he made his
way from the shop.
HENRY the Seventh 18 Aug 10:20 Drunken Jim
Drunken Jim would be in the same little out-of-town betting shop
every afternoon without fail - always arriving at 3.15, well
lubricated, as ever. "Here comes Drunken Jim" someone
would usually say as he approached. Jim had some annoying habits -
coating the toilet floor with urine after a couple of visits was the
worst one. Complaining to the shop owner was no good; all he would
say was: "Jim's a good customer". In other words, he was a
constant heavy loser - we all knew that anyway. He had spent his
entire working life with British Rail and had a wonderful pension,
plus state pension, personal pension, and, it was said, a good
inheritance. If a pair of flippers were needed to go into the
toilet, punters would instead nip down the grassy slope at the side
of the shop and through a gap in the hedge, shake hands with the
vicar, and then return.
Another one of his annoying habits was continually talking aloud
as he read the form; he would always stand reading the form pages on
the wall - he never sat down - and would constantly be poking his
pen into the pieces of form on the pages, so making holes all over
the place, whilst at the same time, explaining why this one would
win, why that one has no chance etc. Jim had slightly prominent
teeth and a bit of a lisp which caused him to splutter, and when he
became animated during a disagreement, it usually paid to stand back
an extra couple of feet.
He was very patriotic and opinionated. Along with the horses,
another subject that would really get him going was cricket. He
couldn't understand why players born in a foreign country were
allowed to play for England. On one occasion when the subject was
raised he spluttered heavily, and then exclaimed, "In my day,
your FATHER had to be born in England to make you eligible to play
for England - now they'll have anybody". (Perhaps it was true
in his younger days, but not so in much earlier times; Maharaja, K.
S. Ranjitsinhje had regularly played for England in late Victorian
times). The last time I saw Drunken Jim was around the mid eighties,
or just after. He was looking quite old, in fact I think he died
about a year later. I hadn't been to that shop for years, and so
while in the area decided to pay a visit to see if any of the old
regulars were there - and they were. Jim, half cut as usual, was
doing his normal routine, except noticeably slower. However, he
still had strong opinions and remained his feisty old self. As he
was leaving and stepping outside, somebody said what a good jockey
the new champion Peter Scudamore is. Jim poked his head back inside
and grumpily roared: "Huh! not a patch on his father".
With that he slammed the door shut. Everyone inside the shop laughed
out aloud.
Tommy Toes 19 Aug 00:37 Up, for Jayco.
andywef23i2gfhe4 19 Aug 01:33 .
Aspirin 19 Aug 08:59 MAKE UP LADY there was a cashier who kept
putting make up and nail polish on, blowing her nails etc while
there a mad dash to put bets on. She just calmly carried on putting
make up on while all the punters were getting angry and missing
getting their bets on... grrr
STINKY NIGE Thick-set black guy, frequented shops in Ipswich town
centre circa 1990. Would often see him, maybe acknowledge his
presence with a nod or a smile only to be greeted with 'baaad man'
glare. One minute later would comically bump into you and laugh his
head off! Generally a good egg Nigel, sadly unable to wash himself
or his clothes properly.
Time Lord Rastafarian, aged 55-65, Black leather hat, long scarf
& coat (a la doctor who) Late afternoon better, 4 NHF races left
& the dogs are on and you're trying to get the f**kers out. Time
lord strolls in, same every day, 3 slips, 4 selections on each
mixture of dogs & horses.
10 yaaaak or 5 E333zzzzw (10p Yankee/5p E/W) scrawled at the top
of each slip, then 4 lines underneath of pure, unadulterated
hieroglyphics/morse code....even the dogs were called by there
maiden names (no traps here)...then the piece de resistance...no
time...jesus, the time i spent deciphering I could've been in that
Enigma film.
In my year of knowing him I only heard him say three sentences :-
"rassssssclaaaarrrt" "pusssssssyyyyclaarrrtttt"
to the female cashier and finally "coooooooome on fuuuuuuuuu kk
ii nnn trap tree"
Aspirin 20 Aug 08:45 JUST PICK 7
Stuart was a nice bloke and a regular punter, not really a
'character', but imo, this story has to be told.
In the summer of 1977, he walked into the shop and threw his car
keys on to the counter. Having done his Jacksons at Harringay the
previous night, along with Mick the Cabbie, and my future brother in
law, Fred. He was almost skint. He had saved a few bob that morning
for an M.O.T. on his Capri, but it failed due to a rusty suspension
leg.
'My lucks p.oxed.' he said.
I told him I could get him a dodgy M.O.T. certificate, but it
would cost him £7, but the car would still be unsafe, or he could
borrow the money to get the car repaired.
' Nah, fk it. Can't be bothered' was the reply. With half a quid
left he wandered up to the chippy and got something to eat for
lunch. When walking back to the shop, he stuck his head in the door
of the pub across the road. He spotted Fred, and went in for a quick
chat, put his last 10p in a fruit machine and got £1 out.
They arrived in the shop and he said ' I've got a nicker, all I
need now is a 100-1 winner.' Fred said 'Just pick 7 horses and have
an acca.' Stuart, going from page to page of the Sporting Life on
the walls kept mumbling 'Just pick 7, he says.' followed by ' I
couldn't fkn pick one last night. Now its 'Just pick 7.'
By now, Mick had arrived, and geeing Stuart on, said 'Just pick
7, it's easy.'
He picked 7, and the only one I remember was Bertie Me Boy, which
was about 4th of the 7.
He had a 50p each way acca, and the first 6 won.
The last one was at Redcar IIRC, and in those days it was Extel
only, no pictures.
The commentator droned on until the last hundred yards when
Stuarts horse was apparently coming with a wet sail. It was a photo,
and Stuarts horse had got up.
The place was well and truly 'buzzing'
Within a few minutes there was the announcement 'Objection at
Redcar.'
It took nigh on 15 minutes, and when the commentator said 'After
the objection at Redcar,' it went deathly quiet, until the words
'Objection over-ruled, result stands.' and the place went mad.
Stuart collected £2,050, and Mick the Cabbie got hold of a
picture of Derby winner Never Say Die, and it was stuck to the
inside glass of the screen along with the bet. It stayed there until
the shop was sold to 'the majic sine' some 6 years later.
Stuart got another car, bought his mum a new three piece suite,
went racing, horse and dogs, for about 14 days on the trot and ended
up skint again.
But he enjoyed it, and that's what the game's all about.
Aspirin 20 Aug 08:46 'IS THAT AN A?'
Formerly known as ' CHECK IT AGAIN PLEASE MATE.'
R.I.P.
Old Bill Manning started betting in our shop in the early 1960s,
he was already about 60 years old then, his wits were as sharp as a
razor but his eyes packed up working properly in about 1990, when he
started to develop cataracts.
I knew him for almost 25 years, and even though he knew my name
he always called me 'mate.'
He worked every bet out to the exact penny, and if the return was
under he would always say 'Check it again mate.' but not tell you
how far out it was. It was never more than a dollar out, even on big
returns, but if you offered him half a quid more to save doing it
again, he'd say 'No thanks, I want it dead right.' All his bets were
each way yankees, and if you overpaid him in the first place, due to
settling at a quarter, not a fifth, you always knew as he'd put the
extra change in the Barnardos box on the counter.
If I remember, it was late 1995 or early 1996, (and over the
years he had some nice wins) he came in dressed as usual in his
overcoat (whatever the weather) holding his walking stick that he
didn't need, with a roll-up as fat as a cigar in his mouth.
This particular Saturday he was over in the corner where your own
shadow goes over the form page you're trying to read. Struggling on,
he was copying the horses names from the Life onto a slip, letter by
letter. I could see he was having problems and asked if he was okay
as the first horse race was due off soon.
'Here mate, is that an A?' he asked, so I walked out to him,
looked at the horse and said.'Yes Bill, that's an A.'
He shrugged ' Cheers mate, me eyes ain''t what they used to be.'
I said for a laugh 'What did they used to be, Bill?'
He replied quick as a flash 'Blue.' and carried on writing his
bet out, grinning.
He put it on and I chucked it in with the other multiples on the
desk. After about 7 races had passed he had 2 winners from 2
runners, 7/2 and 5/1 I think, and as he hardly ever backed horses
with double figure odds, I ignored the bet until later. About half
an hour later he had got winner number 3 at 7/2.
The last horse was in the 4-50 race so I gave the bet to my boss.
Firstly, because I would be settling football bets and the last race
singles, and secondly, he could weigh the few quid up against any
phone business on the race.
He made the same mistake as me 'only small odds' and chucked it
in the pile for looking at later. Somehow, it got buried under a
mass of phone bets. After the last race the boss was cheering as the
favourite, beginning with the letter A, had been well beaten, and he
had layed it on the phone for a nice few quid.
I said ' I suppose Bill had that jolly as well, that was his last
runner, the 4-50.'
He dug it out from under the phone bets saying he had forgotten
all about it.
He had a horse that started with an 'A' alright, he'd copied the
first two letters correctly, then when he looked back he had copied
the rest of the next horse down the card, that started with the same
two letters.
It was the winner, and the SP was 100/1.
Over £2k for a 10p each way yankee.
He came in on Monday and said 'You'll never guess what I done on
Saturday.'
We did.
HENRY the Seventh 20 Aug 11:40 Little Richard
To us, his pals, he was Lenny, but to many in the betting shops
he was often referred to as Little Richard, because of his fanatical
following of the rock and roll singer of that name - and especially
through his impersonation of him. Lenny was a fellow of wild mood
swings; in fact I can't remember anyone else going from a state of
great over excitement on the one hand, to foul temper on the other
over the results of horse races. If he had had a cracking day in the
shop, he would sometimes give a bopping and girating rendition of
any one of a number of Little Richard songs: Long Tall Sally,
Lucille, Tutti Frutti......Awopbopaloobopalopbamboom........ Not a
Little Richard fan myself, but I heard that one so many times in the
car, pub and betting shop that I can still remember that opening
line, and picture Lenny launching himself into it. The other side of
the coin, however, could not have been more different. If results
had gone badly and he had been cleaned out he would storm out of the
betting shop and slam the door behind him.
It was basically the same when we went to the races - there would
be three or four of us, with Lenny always insisting that we go in
his car. This was an idea that not all of us were entirely happy
with. You see, if he had had a good and profitable day, then he
would be laughing and joking along with the rest of us, and
occasionally would burst out into song - always a Little Richard
number of course. On the other hand, a bad day would mean almost
total silence from him on the journey home, and a 90mph white
knuckle drive. No speed cameras nor so many speed restriction then.
I was always glad to arrive home safely, then go indoors and take
something for my headache. Lenny would go home to his saintly wife.
She was what you would call, long suffering.
I havn't seen Lenny, nor heard anything of him for many years,
but often think about him whenever I see that moderate all-weather
horse, Little Richard, is down to run. Lenny was quite a bit older
than me, and was one of the original greasy haired rockers of the
mid fifties - followers of Chuck Berry, Cliff, Elvis, Eddie Cochrane
etc. Most of their generation did National Service and would be
around seventy years of age now. One always imagines the crooning of
the likes of Frank Sinatra, Perry Como and Nat King Cole coming from
the bedroom windows of the old people's nursing homes, but in just
ten to fifteen years it will probably be drowned out by the sound of
rock and roll, being played by a few of the "new
generation" of residents. In a decade or so in time, if I
hear.....Awopbopaloobop........being sung as I drive past one of
these homes, I will know that Lenny has been admitted, and for sure,
that he will have just backed a winner.
andywef23i2gfhe4 20 Aug 19:53 .
regvarney 20 Aug 20:03 keep 'em coming
HENRY the Seventh 20 Aug 23:50 About ten years ago I used to
frequent a betting shop that was close to a chinese restaurant, and
so it attracted several of the cooks, waiters etc. One of them, a
very small dishwasher called Stanley, was likeable, very chatty and
would make himself known to all the regulars. His trousers often had
seemingly a thousand creases in them, making it look very likely
that he had slept in them. I was talking to him one afternoon and
pointed out an old chain smoking chinese man who was in the same
seat every afternoon with his Daily Mirror. "That's Peter"
said Stanley. "He has been working at the same job in the
restaurant for over forty years and has nothing to show for it -
three broken marriages, no money, just a few clothes and two
suitcases. He has been coming into betting shops every day for over
thirty years and, despite always working very long hours and
studying the newspaper form, he has lost everything.
A year later, I realised that old Peter had not been in the shop
for a few weeks - he had always been part of the furniture - so I
asked Stanley where he was. Stanley told me that Peter had inherited
around £250,000 from a very wealthy relative in Hong Kong, and had
gone out there to live the good life. About three years ago, and
after a good absence from that shop myself, I decided to revisit the
place and noticed that old Peter was back in his usual seat. Stanley
came up to me in his usual inquisitive way and asked where I had
been, what I been doing since he last saw me etc. After answering a
few of his questions I then asked him why Peter had come back.
"He has lost everything at the racetracks in Hong Kong - the
entire inheritance has gone, and now he is back in his old job,
working hard" was the reply. "He must be so
depressed" I said. "Oh no" replied Stanley "he
has been reading Confucious, and although he still can't resist the
lure of the betting shop, he is in good mental health and full of
hope after reading the teachings".
So there was Peter, seventy two years of age, three broken
marriages, flat broke after losing his quarter million pounds
inheritance, and now having to work all hours in order to get his
living - and yet he is optimistic. I told Stanley that I found it
hard to believe - even allowing for the fact that he is reading the
works of their greatest philosopher - that he can be so optimistic
at his age, after all the misfortunes and stupidity of the past,
combined with his present plight. Stanley looked at me and simply
said: "Yes, but you are English - Peter is Chinese".
Aspirin 21 Aug 08:41 A betting shop in the fulham road on a bank
holiday afternoon in the nineties . A couple of opposition companies
nearby had been robbed in the previous few weeks , so all the staff
were on alert. The manager and cashiers all clocked a guy coming
through the door, thin scruffy, with a large coat walking to the
counter with obviously no interest in the racing. The manager met
him at the counter screen and asked how he could help, the scruffy
guy replied " you can start by giving me some money "
despite his legs shaking the manager said " let's see it then
" at which point the guy reaches into his coat and pulls out a
......
(LOL, I haven't got the next word or line, lost it in transit
somewhere, perhaps the author will look in)
PIKEY JIM Only ever a race by race punter, but one day he decides
to have 66 x 50p sf doubles through the card at an evening dogs
meeting. This was a small independent bookies & in the days
before they had electronic tills & indeed betting slips. Bets
were written on a slip of paper, handed over the counter & a
ticket was given as a receipt, the other half of the ticket being
stapled to the slip of paper.
Come the next day, Jim was waiting for the staff to open the
shop. You'd never believe it but our Jim had picked all 12 winning
forecasts & was confidently expecting to collect his winnings of
just over £43k.
Unfortunately, instead of his expected windfall, poor Jim managed
to cop for a 9 month stretch.
How he got caught.
Obviously the settler couldn't believe someone had picked every
single winner & on closer inspection the ticket that was
attached to the bet had 2 mysterious extra staple holes in it.
As it came out in court, Jim had got a pikey kid to hide in the
toilets at the end of the afternoon racing & the staff locked up
the shop with him still in there. Jim then went to the dogs, wrote
down all the winners, went back to the shop & passed them
through the letterbox to the kid inside. The kid then retrieved the
original bet, replaced it with the new slip of paper & stapled
the ticket to that. He then let himself out of an upstairs window.
Daft thing is, if he hadn't been so greedy & had just tried
to claim 5 or 6 winners, he would probably have got away with it.
Always makes me laugh when I think of this, ingenious idea, but how
f?kin dumb can you be, especially as there was a £4k limit on
overnight bets.
Union Jack Boy For those who don't remember the union jack it
involved 9 selections in a
123 456 789
format. It paid out trebles in a bingo style. This particular
bookies had a particularly wide betting slip. Union jack boy would
wander in, and draw his own union jack on a betting slip, but
instead of having just one selection in each box he would place 2 or
3, making perms all over the place. Writing times, names of horses,
odds sometimes (they priced up every race at 9am) in tiny letters,
he would always have something to return. Yes those penny trebles
sure would add up. The top copy would be a mess of red pen as the
poor settler had to work his way thru all the days bets. Of course
as soon as the last race on his bet finished he would be at the
counter waiting for his money. He justified this bet by saying he
could cover a whole days horse/dog racing for under a tenner. Idiot.
keno 21 Aug 19:37 top
HENRY the Seventh 22 Aug 00:00 Reddy Teddy
Sounds like another old rock and roller doesn't it, but not so.
Ted was given this nickname because of his love of cash, and his
trademark cry, "Teddy's got the readies" when he drew a
hefty amount from the cashier, or was paid from the satchel on
course - he never messed around and would lay it on thick. He was a
good number of years older than me, and was an old soldier who had
served in Korea during that war: 1951-53, and for many years after
was a very slick operator as a chief accountant with a large
company, but tried it on once too often and was instantly dismissed
by his boss - by way of a recorded message. We got on very well and
would often meet up on course or in a betting shop - never in the
pub though; I like my pint at the bar, but he hated the pub,
preferring to sit at home with his wife and watch TV over a glass or
two.
Getting the sack was the worst thing that ever happened to him.
He really fancied his chances of making it as a pro punter and
raided his bank accounts to finance the great enterprise. Travelling
around the courses, he found that the expenses were soaking up any
winnings, and the cash soon dried up. Next he liquidated the
assurance policies and to hell with future security. Ted now had a
second bite at the cherry - his bank was back up to around 50k. He
decided to abandon travelling around the country and to concentrate
on telephone betting and daily visits to the betting shop.
Unfortunately he hit a bad run at the start and then, disastrously,
began chasing his losses. If he had a winner he would shout so long
and loud that you sometimes thought the ceiling was going to come
crashing down. But winners were thin on the ground. I was present
when he had his final large wager - £1,000 on the even money
favourite in a hunter chase. It made a shocking blunder at the
second fence and the rider did well to stay aboard, but his feet
were out of the irons and all chance had gone. Ted suddenly
disappeared - I guessed he was going home. Still, I went out after
him to try and cheer him up a bit. There he was, with his back
pressed back against the wall, eyes closed and breathing really
heavily - in fact, gasping for air. I thought for a moment he was
having a heart attack, but he recovered after another minute or so.
Ted was now skint - there were no more reserves of cash. He did
the antiques fairs and boot sales and got rid of all the antiques
and collectables he had accumulated over the years. The cash raised
from the sale of these went the same way as the other monies, and as
they say, he was now all washed up. There was still the house left,
but thankfully it is jointly owned, and his wife is looking after
things on that score. I would say with some certainty that his wife
saved him from himself and complete ruin because all the signs were
there that he had lost control. Ted is now well into his seventies
and he and his wife survive on pensions. He says he now gets just as
much fun out of a 50p yankee bet as he did out of betting in
hundreds or a thousand. Is that because he no longer has the money
to bet big, or is it because he has mellowed with age? I'll hedge my
bets and say it is a bit of both.
Aspirin 22 Aug 08:34 MR COULDN'T TELL YOU
Sat in the bookies on derby day, Mr Couldn't tell you was in as he
always was. Commander in Chief wins (I think that was its name) and
all my ante-post dreams on stablemate and 4/5f Tenby were in
tatters. Over he comes to me with the following. "I knew that
would win, couldn't tell you before i was sworn to secrecy". I
dunno why he bothered, how could the Derby of all races be a fiddle.
It really didn't help and I'll never forget as he waltzed up to the
counter and handed over his £1 e/w bet. I don't think it even
returned a tenner.
Mr Go home my son, go home
Anyone who has ever set foot in a bookies in Burleigh St
Cambridge knows this guy. I thought he was some sort of punting
guru, as every time a 16/1+ shot was in the frame near the line he
would boom out "go home my son, go home". How was it he
could pick out all these outsiders i wondered. I shuffled near him
spying on the man mountain of betting slips in his hand. Sure enough
1p e/w doubles on EVERY horse in double figures.
Irish Peter
He would be first into the shop every morning and be gone by
10am. He would wander in later that afternoon, betting slips in
hand, having been drinking all morning. He stunk of alcohol. He
would look at the screens, mumble a bit, and hand his slips to my
mate who would check his slips. £5 yankees were his main bet. He
would bet on 4 number 14s (he lived at 14) on one slip, all horses
with Irish in the name as he was Irish, horses with red in it, his
front door was red after all, anything just coincidental really.
One particular day he handed over a slip for my friend to check,
20/1 winner, 16/1 winner 12/1 winner, and one to run in 20 minutes
14/1. My heart has never beaten so quickly as we watched this horse
crashing through almost every fence and approaching the last it was
in 3rd. If it could just jump the last his e/w portion would be home
and hosed, there was nothing else near it. The first horse fell, it
almost bought down the second and Irish Peters horse jumped the last
only to be bought down by the horse lying on the floor. Had it won
(I don't think it was going to) he would've won almost £500,000. As
it was he won £28k (from memory). He was happy as Larry, i think he
never truly understood how much he could've won. The mind numbing
effects of alcohol I guess. That bet made it onto the wall for a few
weeks.
I suppose he is living proof that the scattergun approach to
betting works, as he had 6 of Frankies magnificent 7 on a lucky 63 a
few years later. I havent seen him for ages, I hope he is ok.
I work for sadcrooks and the day after Boxing day had to bank
£4,500. When I got to the bank it was mobbed so went next door to
Wetherspoons and had 2 pints of Westons cider (8%) and sorted out my
horse bets for that day. Went back to the bank but was still mobbed,
so popped into Billys and put a score in the roulette machine .
Ended up doing £130 of my money so thought I would just borrow a
bit from the banking, £800 later had a few dog bets £10 comb. tri
casts managed to get one up and drew £1350 putting me £40 up. I
got some strange looks from the staff as I'm only a 50p lucky 15 man
normally. I now send my cashier to do the banking !!
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