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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.