Mrs Nott and I ventured up to the Big Smoke this weekend, no not for racing but to indulge in my other passion, music. I also write about rock n roll. I have been contributing to Vive Le Rock Magazine since it was an embryonic webpage before being born as a fully fledged and ultimately very successful magazine, a point proven by the 16th Birthday Celebration gig we attended at the Islington O2. What an excellent night it was too, featuring a varied line-up of bands all of the punk ilk. The headliners were The Skids, some older readers might remember ‘Into The Valley’, ‘Working For The Yankee Dollar’ and more, they even played my favourite B side, ‘TV Stars’ with the chorus ‘Albert Tatlock’, once again, the older among you may remember him. The band below are the Deaf Devils from Spain, Mrs Nott captured a great shot here.....
Anyway, I’m aware that most of the people kind enough to follow me, read and watch my content are fans of gambling and racing, I am getting there. The first very tenuous link is the comparison of the O2 Islington and Cheltenham or any other racecourse come to that. The beer prices, £8.75 for a pint for Camden Pale Ale in a plastic glass at the O2, make Cheltenham look like Spoons, they were card only too, bear in mind demographic of the crowd and that they were described by one witness as resembling ‘broken toes’ there were plenty of people that either only had cash so didn’t buy one, baulked at the price or had plenty before they got there. It was easy get served, so if you could afford two pints of lager and a packet of crisps you didn't have to wait long.
Prior to the gig we went to a chain brand restaurant for some grub, we’d heard about it but never tried one so thought we’d give it a go. When we got in there, it wasn’t too busy, our ‘waiter’ appeared to be more interested in his phone than us but eventually ambled over. We breezily told him that it was our first time in one of these restaurants, he shrugged evidently not caring less and said he’d be back. He was eventually, we struggled with the menu, we asked him a couple of things about the items on it, he didn’t know anything about them which wasn’t too helpful so we had a guess up as you do on a tricky card and eventually ordered.
We waited for a fair while for our food and drinks to arrive, our waiter was scrolling, I doubt it was the racing results, I eventually I caught his eye, he ambled over, then said, ‘Oh your table doesn’t exist’, we looked at him incredulously, he replied with another shrug, he was a good shrugger, and asked if we’d like him to try again to which I replied, that it would be handy if he didn’t mind. To cut a long story short, one of his colleagues, a polar opposite of our guy, helped us out. When the meal did arrive, it was very nice despite a pulling a length hair out my rice dish, it was OK I’d almost finished it by then. The bill from this particular chain was £69 including two drinks, no service charge which was just as well. Had the second guy brought it to us he’d have got bunged some cash, he was different class, acted as if it was his business and couldn’t do enough for us.
Which brings us to, racecourse bookies, they always have been and still are a flamboyant and charactersome bunch, is that a word? I’m coining it if not. I have to say, they aren’t all these days, the ones being paid to stand on some satellite pitches really don’t look like they want to be there, no names mentioned but one chap was sat on his arse for most of a recent Ascot meeting, he was certainly not on piece work and is certainly qualified to work at an Islington eatery. Such a contrast to the likes of Big Jim working his pitch for every cent it’s worth, Jerry White’s eccentricity for Kalooki, Barry Pinnington with luxurious tash and wit, Dave O’Reilly over in Ireland with the impeccable banter , Ben ‘Let’s Get Gambling’ Keith calling them in at Towcester and of course the late Barry Dennis, he knew, that punters loved to hate their bookies and did his best to rub them up the wrong way.
I love to see a bookmaker that uses his stool as a stage, it’s even more important these days with competition on course so fierce and hardly a margin to wiggle around. Make the bland spice it up a bit,let's get that betting ring throbbing again, no more mediocrity please chaps, if in doubt, bet with the one that’s trying the hardest! The Betting Ring, like Punk isn't dead, it just needs a poke every no and again!
Simon Nott
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