The clock was ticking on towards 3 p.m. last Wednesday, and the staff in Theatre 1 of Homerton University Hospital’s Day Stay Unit – I think that’s its correct description – prepared yet another patient for surgery, writes Tony Stafford.
Actually surgery is rather stretching the point for what was a minor procedure to excise a tumour from said patient’s forehead, except that the patient was your correspondent. An atmosphere of good-humoured professionalism pervaded, but then one of the female assistants to the surgeon confessed to being a little worse-for-wear after a long day at the battlefront between the NHS and the hordes of patients that make never-ending demands on its resources.
“I can’t wait to go home”, she said plaintively, to which her boss replied: “You’ve still got three hours to go.” “I know”, she sighed, adding: “But when I do get home, I’ll have a massage. I have a man to do that, just for the back”.
Already shrouded, in advance of anticipating the various agents of the surgeon’s trade, I couldn’t help but ask, to somebody I’d never actually seen: “Do you have another man for the front?” a question that got general mirth from the other female attendees, and an admission from the surgeon: “I was thinking that too, but didn’t dare say it!”
Having promised to show me the offending cancerous intruder, it was with a little disappointment when 45 minutes later, after the endless number of stitches was finally applied, I was advised to wait a while before swinging my legs off the bed. My first sight was of the surgeon, scrupulously honest with all my questions during the procedure, already walking away to his next appointment.
It could have been anything or anyone. In the initial stages after my 12.30 p.m. arrival at reception, with around nine others I was settled in a small, private cubicle awaiting the initial consultation. It was more than an hour later that one much younger man – in for a vasectomy, poor lad – was getting quite irritated that he might not be out in time to collect his car, as the parking time was up at 2.20 p.m. He was pushed forward a little, but was probably in for pain on more than one front.
The chap next to me, who I did see beforehand, was told by his surgeon – not mine – he would have the one on his (BCC like mine I assume) cheek removed, but he would have to wait until another time for them to do the one on his nose. “And hang on,” the doctor said, “You have others on your front. Could I look at your back? Wow, they’re all over. You’ll have to have them all biopsied!” In that moment I resolved to stay covered up for the rest of my life, just imagining what horrors awaited the poor man over the coming months.
After discharge, I was expected to wait two days for the dressing to come off, which it finally did on Friday night. My wife reminded me that the previous time, four years ago when a more substantial intruder was removed, it had been bleeding profusely as soon as I got home, and by 9 p.m. my head seemed to have swelled to almost one and a half times its normal size, requiring a drive back to the hospital and a night-long wait for attention.
This time there was no bleed, but on exposing the wound, I saw that there is a three-inch line, not too straight either, above the right eyebrow. Cosmetically the last one can hardly be noticed, even by the doctors, but this time I’m going to look more like a victim of the 1950’s gang wars of the West/East End of London.
Before signing off last week I did offer some racing intelligence, suggesting that Laxmi, owned in partnership by Raymond Tooth and his Star Sports Mayfair betting shop pals Shahpur Siddiqui and Dilip Sharma, would run a good first race at Windsor last Monday night. The filly, from the first crop of Coventry/ Dewhurst winner War Command, has Saturday’s Irish 2,000 Guineas runner-up US Navy Flag in the dam’s side of her pedigree.
The prediction proved well-founded, as after a slow exit and at least half a furlong to get organised, Laxmi came through fast and late and just failed on the line to get second behind impressive fellow-debutant Main Edition who is destined for the Albany Stakes. Despite being substantial punters, Messrs Siddiqui and Sharma had never previously tried ownership in the UK, but they have certainly entered into the spirit of their new pastime.
“Sharps” as Bobby (the Taxi) Gray, his constant companion when in the UK from his business base in Dubai, calls him, came alone (with Bobby). Dilip though had half a dozen friends and family with him. To say Dilip’s first contact with ownership was exciting was an under-statement. Both new owners posed for pictures in the winner’s enclosure afterwards and then the rest of Dilip’s entourage stepped in to record the moment, and were still there with the patient filly long after the “horses away” call.
That was probably the most encouraging aspect for a debutant. Calm before the race – her groom almost had to drag her around the paddock – she was equally relaxed after the exertions, never showing any sign of irritation at the succession of human celebrants. Bobby, whose brother Johnny, a one-time jockey with Brian Swift was also there to offer professional insight, reckoned when the filly runs again, Dilip will need 40 owners’ badges not six! My thought was if that’s how much they all enjoyed her finishing third imagine how they’ll be if and when she wins?
You always know from trainers’ entry patterns what they think of their horses, and the fact that Brian Meehan suggested Haydock on Wednesday fortnight as her next objective certainly filled me with excitement. He often runs his decent animals there, and won the corresponding Haydock race with Blue Bayou two years ago.
Talking of Bobby the Taxi, he was destined to meet for the first time at Windsor, Harry the Cab (Taylor to regular readers) and as ever prominent on the box as the coterie of Aiden O’Brien jockeys was instructed before yesterday’s Irish 1,000 Guineas.
Both are black cab drivers of long vintage, Harry being far senior, and they both live in Chigwell, on the north-east borders of Metropolitan Essex, just off the M11. It was strange that they had never met before as they have numerous mutual friends and acquaintances, most notably Maurice Manasseh, former County cricketer, businessman, racehorse owner and close friend of Michael Tabor for most of their adult lives.
I’ve no idea whether Maurice, back at base in Star Sports, joined in the each-way support of Laxmi, but I do know that nobody in the world would have cheered more loudly when Gareth Bale, a client of Maurice’s son David and partner Jonathan Barnett, bosses of the Stellar Group, smashed in the overhead kick to kill off Liverpool in the Champions League Final on Saturday night.
I did intend making my racecourse comeback at Lingfield tomorrow when Brian initially pencilled in Ray’s home-bred juvenile My Law for the maiden fillies’ race, but on second thoughts he has decided to wait for a race on turf.
My Law, a full-sister to the promising but as yet non-winning Sod’s Law, and half-sister to the useful handicappers Dutch Art Dealer and Dutch Law came into Manton several months after the sales intake last year. According to Meehan and especially assistant trainer James Ferguson, she is catching up fast.
Ferguson, son of John and until last year’s Godolphin upheaval, filling a similar position with Charlie Appleby, singled out Steve Gilbey, Ray’s right-hand man in the restaurant after Monday’s race and said: “My Law is going to surprise a lot of people.” I hope he’s right. Certainly, so far, our return to Manton where Ray had plenty of success in the past, has rekindled the boss’s enthusiasm. It helps greatly that he has two new partners who also happen to be friends, to keep up the optimism.