Bertrand Bossu

I spent last evening at Sandown Park in the company of fellow Gulls Andy ("Andy C") Charles and Andy ("Stepho") Stephens...................amongst the bigger than average crowd were a lot of "racing virgins" - office parties with lots of nubile young things, local residents etc; all it seemed on "comps" from the racecourse. Twice I got identified as "you look as if you know what you're doing" and thus had to describe the difference between the tote and boards betting, the difference between a handicap and a level weights race and break the news that neither the Tote nor the bookies would be paying out on the third place a poor orgasmic young female had just screamed home as there were less than the required eight runners in the race to stretch the each way facility past second home..................and as to just why a 2/1 shot should attract an each way at reduced odds of a fifth of 2/1 (ermm, I've never even bothered to work that one out) I never even troubled her little head with

In my smart suit, studious specs, trench coat (it pissed down all night) and aged gait as I dragged my arthritic raddled hips and ankles up and down the terraced slopes of Esher, I must cut the sight of a harmless father figure to these stunning young women; whilst to the smart, apparently financially independent and quite frankly tasty "Jilly Cooper" set in their late forties and early fifties (the type of women I was not so long ago offering to help across the road or hold their shopping, but now fancy like hell) only have to glimpse over my shoulder and see the minimal stakes I was laying out before discarding any notion that I may be "a weekend in Chester" material or maybe their "Teddy Bear" tonight in the local hotel - unless they're footing the bill that is!

Anyway, I suffered the most unsuccessful night I have EVER known racing with not one of my selections even contesting a finish whilst Chas and Stepho entered an eating marathon (it's race five, must be time for a salt beef sarnie) as some sort of comfort zone for their own equally spectacular failure and benevolence towards the chequer suited spivs down the front.

Nevertheless, sitting amongst the rhododendrons in the steamy atmosphere of a summer downpour does lend one the air of the Far Eastern traveller in my imagination - even in deepest suburban Surrey...................and the wet does turn even the most carefully selected item of the wardrobe into little more than a wet tee shirt effect for some of the "Jillys" and "nubiles"

Bertie Bossu? Oh yes, that's another story that I haven't got time to relate now as work calls; but I will over the weekend - promise!

Life was just the opposite in my formative years Dave. My gran (who was born in 1888 & lived to be 101) used to accommodate a well known jockey of the pre-war years - George Roberts, by offering him bed & breakfast in her tiny home in Manor Cottages off Wolborough Street. As the years went by more and more of the family did the same for others of the Cheltenham and Lambourn racing fraternity (there were no motorways or helicopters in those days!) as a day's racing at NA involved coming down by train the day before. So my father and his cousins grew up in the racing environment and by the time I was a nipper (and my gran and her sisters were all widows) old George was now a valet (one of the travelling band who look after the jockey's kit and make sure they have the right colours on, correct saddle cloth and number plus weights for each race) having been a trainer in the mean time. Some of the legends of the late fifties and sixties............Terry Biddlecombe, Johhny Hain, Josh Gifford, Michael Scudamore were all acquaintances of the family and my dad worked at the course for virtually every race day from the end of the war until he passed away in 1994 (he "up there" helping me recall all this now!)

From the age of five I was taken along to run amok round the course together with a lad called Tony Collier who's own late dad (Jack) was a legend in local football circles and was actually not only an accomplished player with Newton Spurs, Kingsteignton Athletic & Bovey Tracey, but a fine old school ref who you didn't dare argue with and a very good administrator and one of your son's Tony's predecessors as registration & fixtures' sec of the SDL. My brother recalls getting bawled at by Jack at Stoodley Knowle to "get up and stopping taking the mick" when he was laying prostrate with what turned out to be a broken leg...............but you didn't argue with Jack, so Bryan dutifully struggled to his feet before there was a horrible crack ;D

Anyway, I digress during this Saturday novel..............by the age of ten Tony and I were earning a "few bob" by working in the weighing room helping the valets and ducking and diving around the Clerk of the Scales (my dad even took that job on in his time) and acquiring Tourette's Syndrome from the jockeys! We did all sorts of other jobs at various times..........manning the now redundant runners and riders board which also included the skill of writing out new boards for unknown riders (the new phenomenon of visiting Irish jockey's were a real challenge) "O'Niel"[/s],"ONiell" - 'oi haven't you done number 14 yet?' "O'Neill" yeah got it!!! We sold racecards, helped tamp in the divots and even painted that ruddy white rail during the school holidays.

Later in my life I can claim to have been amongst the crew that cut and laid out the first ever football pitch out in the middle (including some rudimentary draining work) that has evolved into the Gulls' training centre now!

So racing "was in my blood" as they say but gradually took a back seat to football and the Gulls and it was only really the misery of the last three seasons before the one just ended that took me back to watching it with any regularity and I must say it is an absolute joy in my later years and I'm lucky in that my partner Bijou loves it just as much.

Quaint Fontwell (where the back straight is almost as close to the stands as the winning post at Newbury) so tiny they have to run "figure of eight" to include all the fences needed for a steeple chase, idiosyncratic and completely bonkers Cartmel where the "stand"(an open air terrace) is in the middle of the course requiring one to turn around and look over the back as the field loops round behind, yet when they are in front they disappear into the woods for a full minute before re-emerging (count 'em in, count 'em out!) and immaculate, glorious Goodwood (the finest view in all England with not a building in sight over the Downs as you look from the stands and the coast Chichester cathedral, the Solent and the Isle of White laid out beneath the observer from the rear) a real a pleasure to frequent as are the spectacular Sandown Park right here on our doorstep in London. But my favourite of all is our regular Friday night/Saturday visit to the Roodee in Chester for the July meeting - 32,000 crammed in beneath the city walls in the mock Tudor stands screaming away in noisy Scouse or posh Cheshire County as the combatants tear around the near circular tiniest course in the world.

Watch Helen Chamberlain's Birkspeil (no 11 in the three o'clock at Goodwood on Channel 4 this afternoon) but don't back it as it "needs the run" - polite speak for no chance today (it's 40/1)
Oh, and in answer to your question...............the minimum bet is now £2 - and you don't need to bet heavy or even at all to enjoy the entertainment of it all.

Here endeth the Saturday article!