| The Warky Report: Bolton (A) 19:59 - Jan 16 with 1005 views | Warkystache |
Tel fancied something different. Bored by a weekend with his in-laws, taken to Freeport to shop and watch the new Matrix film, which he said he fell asleep during and awoke near the end to find he understood "Nuffink", he craved a new experience.
So we eschewed the Friday curry and had Italian in Luccas instead. And we booked tickets for the point-to-point at Higham today.
I've reclaimed my morning walk. It's now a power-walk for the last five miles and a slow casual saunter for the first five, admiring the flora and fauna, getting mud on the hems of my jeans, letting off sumptuous raised-leg farts when no-one's about. Except the dogs, the advance party from their owners, creeping up obsequiously with heads bowed and tails wagging, wanting a quick head-tickle, keenly aware of the divine scent of fresh flatus which hung behind me like a bride's train. One brave chocolate lab took the plunge and applied his nose directly to the seat of my jeans. The look suggested those Bisto kids from my youth.
I'm more popular with the dogs than the owners, anyway. Even the ones who used to grunt in reply to my muffled 'good morning' have stopped. Familiarity breeds contempt. When home, I'm probably known as "that weird geezer wot walks wivout a dog". If there's ever, god forbid, a murder in these leafy lanes, I'm probably prime suspect.
Otherwise, life continues much as it was. Paula divides her working life between different stores, managing and deputy-managing each to improve her portfolio. We're no nearer organising a date for the wedding. She still has some annoying traits, like leaving the lid off the toothpaste and not opening bank statements, leaving them intact in her new handbag. She has a strangely fanatic attraction to crap telly as well. The Masked Singer. Ant'n'Dec. Strictly on Ice or whatever it's called. I miss Netflix. I was nearly two series in to Mindhunter as well.
She was working all weekend, hence Tel and I being free to indulge. She was invited to Luccas on Friday but declined and went to see her mum for her usual weekly trip, taking Morrisons Bags for Life filled with Bourneville chocolate fingers and marshmallows and stuff. Paula's sister bought her mum one of those Hotel Chocolat velvetiser things for Christmas so she now indulges in a lot of hot chocolate. They 'share' the experience when Paula comes to see her, so she's improved the experience by including Bourneville Finger 'stirrers' and marshmallows the size of small pillows. I just smiled when she told me. We've now got one of our own.
Tel was in fun mode. We met down the pub, not our local but The Red Lion, just up the hill in Manningtree. He ordered the Amstel and held his pint up to the light, examining for bits or something, I didn't know. "Not a bad pint that" he grudgingly admitted and we sat down at the table to enjoy our drinks and a desultory conversation about the Braintree Mafia weekend. "That Sandy" he started, in tones of wonderment mixed with mock, "she arnly finks 'am salad is a decent evenin' meal duntshe? Bleedin' 'am salad. 'Am wiv lettis'n'tomarta'n'cue'n'a bitter coleslaw. Bleedin' starvin' poor Tone ter deaf, she is. Wun't surprise me if 'e don' look like summink outta Owswitch when we bofe see 'em next munf, as we 'ave to, accordin' to the missus". He stopped to sip his pint and play with the beermat. "She's tryin' ter get 'im back to 'is younger weight. Disaster in a bloke in 'is fifties, that. Ah'd put me foot darn if I was 'im. Course, no-one gives two 'oots wot ah fink..." said disconsolately at the end. I thought back to the last time I'd seen Tony and remembered I'd thought he'd piled on a bit of timber. He had definite tits visible through his Ben Sherman shirt.
We left after two pints apiece, walking back down the hill to the high street, the welcoming lights of Luccas twinkling. In the end, he had the Meatballs al forno starter and the Calabrese pizza main with a side of roasted potatoes. I had the prawns and calamari and the chopped salad main. "Bleedin' salad" commented Tel. "Everyone's on a poxy diet then?". We shared a bottle of Chianti and he had three Peronis and we should just have bought the bottle of brandy off them afterwards. He declined a pud, as did I. Puds, especially Italian puds, are lethal.
"So woss point-ter-point then?" he asked as a second round of brandies appeared at our elbows. I explained as best I could, horses racing over hurdles, bit like National Hunt, only with the Barbour jacket and green welly country set cheering them on between G&T's and the odd plover's egg. "Oh" he said, looking like I'd just asked him to watch a Matrix film marathon in my garden shed. Then he brightened. "Is there booze?". I nodded. There was a beer tent. "An' bettin'....?" I nodded again. He smiled.
So there we were, 11.30am, studying form near the row of bookies with classic bookie names (Sid Dennis, Joe Bunting, Jack Rogers) and eyeing the prices with the faux-practiced eye of the mug punter. Tel, a roll of banknotes in his trouser pocket ("I'm takin' two 'undred, just in case, like" he told me solemnly with a tap on his nose and a wink). The first race was off at twelve.
He was dressed like I'd seen molecatchers dress in olden days pictures of Suffolk life in the 1920's. Green and brown checked flat cap ("Found this in me wardrobe from when I went ter fancy dress as Delboy in the '90's), wax jacket ("Aint a Barber though. Fink it's from Millets. Never wore it before. Wife saw it in a sale an' fought I'd like it"). Black thin cords that looked like jeans from a distance. Doc Martens shoes. He only needed a shooting stick and a hip flask and a labrador and he'd have been perfect.
He criticised my dress; black leather coat, blue jumper, wooly hat, two sweatshirts under the jumper to keep out the chill, black jeans, Skechers. "Look like yer abart to nick summink" he commented as he jumped into my car. I drove by the way. He wanted to drink. I stuck to coffee from the various stalls dotted around.
He won on the first race. £25 on the favourite. It was odds on. He beamed as we stood near the winning post and the distant dot on the horizon jumped the last and wellied home by 30-odd lengths. I did the third favourite, which was pulled up. "Great start" he smiled, rubbing it in.
He won on the second as well. All his winnings on a 3-1 second favourite which won so easily the rest of the field might just as well have run direct to the cat-food processing plant in Sudbury. The sour-faced bookie paid him in blue notes, licking his thumb in between shuffles. He bought me a consolation Americano.
He had the lot on some Spanish sounding horse in the third, Don Calvados, or something. "Luv Spain" he said by way of justification. It was 4-1. He had £95 on. I prayed it'd loose. He'd be unbearable if it won. I didn't bother having a bet. I need to save money, after a pricey Christmas and a wedding coming at some point in future. Plus, I'm crap at it.
Anyway, long story short, the favourite pulled up, and guess what? Even the commentator on the track sounded a note of disbelief as Don Calvados went ten, fifteen lengths clear coming to the last. 'Fall' I said mentally as Tel belied his country dress and started bellowing "Come on you lovely big bleeder" in broad Cockney as the more refined spectators near us tutted and surreptitiously threw their lost bets in the grass. It won by a street. He turned to me, face wreathed in joy, and hugged me. For one awful moment I thought we were doing the conga near the paddock. "Spanish" he choked, the emotion clogging his voice for a second. Well it wasn't, I murmured. Calvados was french last time I had a drop.
We left after that. The favourite won the next race but it suddenly turned cold, and the portable toilets smelt like the sh**ter in hell and they had to delay the next race to get the Air Ambulance in to treat a jockey injured in the last, which meant a long delay to the next and we didn't bother. The bookie paid Tel his winnings with an ill-grace that seemed to warn him off trying again. Plus they didn't sell brandy in the beer tent and he fancied a few to celebrate and to stave off the incipient creeping chill. So we went back to mine.
And I drove him home at five, a virtuous glow on his face, the sort of glow which said "I've had a good day" and he jumped from the car like Frankie Dettori dismounting a Derby winner and said "I like that point-ter-pointin' lark, we should go again" and I made a mental note not to remind him of the next meeting.
And Town lost 2-0 away. That was a surprise. Like many on here, I fancied a late play-off push, perhaps by winning every game from now to April. But hey, there's my luck this weekend. At least Paula's just walked in from work and kissed me long and breathlessly before her shower. I'm just cooking the chicken we're dining on. Then it'll be an easy night in front of the telly, some rubbish on ITV, long cuddles and smooches amidst it all. Perhaps I've used all my luck up in the last few months. She's always going to be the favourite as far as I'm concerned.
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| The Warky Report: Bolton (A) on 20:10 - Jan 16 with 947 views | SitfcB |
Perhaps we need tips from Tel instead of Rommy! Never been to point to point, always thought it was like trials for proper racing, didn’t realise they had bookies there. |  |
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| The Warky Report: Bolton (A) on 20:20 - Jan 16 with 931 views | Warkystache |
| The Warky Report: Bolton (A) on 20:10 - Jan 16 by SitfcB |
Perhaps we need tips from Tel instead of Rommy! Never been to point to point, always thought it was like trials for proper racing, didn’t realise they had bookies there. |
On course bookies. The queues were long though. Mind, you could have a beer at 11am and the hot dogs looked nice. Well worth a visit; not too far from Ipswich and set in some of the most breathtaking countryside around here. | |
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| The Warky Report: Bolton (A) on 20:21 - Jan 16 with 920 views | The_Romford_Blue |
A Warky Report full of horse racing and Tel. The TWTD equivalent of a wet dream that. Superb. |  |
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| The Warky Report: Bolton (A) on 20:32 - Jan 16 with 885 views | Fixed_It |
| The Warky Report: Bolton (A) on 20:21 - Jan 16 by The_Romford_Blue |
A Warky Report full of horse racing and Tel. The TWTD equivalent of a wet dream that. Superb. |
I'm sure Tel would be flattered if he knew...  |  |
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| The Warky Report: Bolton (A) on 08:12 - Jan 17 with 662 views | Kitman |
Your point about: "that weird geezer wot walks wivout a dog" ....is a good one. Do something similar round my manor and have thought the same. Only saving grace is that I occasionally do look after daughter's dog and take him out over the same walking area. |  |
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| The Warky Report: Bolton (A) on 10:41 - Jan 17 with 567 views | Guthrum |
You should get yourself one of these:
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