Tag Archive for: Roving Reports

Roving Reports: The National’s Still Grand

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This year's Aintree adventure, as always, starts not on Thursday morning but on Wednesday evening, with my lift to Aintree picking me up, complete with luggage (four work shirts, two pairs of trousers, assorted toiletries, an Aldi 'bag for life' full of wet weather gear, another bag containing all the electricals and laptops I'll need for the trip, including an extension cord and adaptor - absolutely essential when staying away) at 8pm, writes David Massey. There's no need to go any earlier, with the purpose of the trip merely to put us in the right area for Aintree on Thursday, as the pick for bookmaking spots takes place ridiculously early: 10.15am Thursday and Friday, 10am Saturday. Bookmakers tackling the M6 on the relevant mornings have been known to miss their spots. You're much better off staying local and we're just half an hour away, in Warrington. 

We're also taking our friend Steve, who is working for a different bookmaker this week, along with us and dropping him off at his Premier Inn, which is in Warrington but a different one to ours. Sadly, the info Steve has about his residence for the week is limited and we end up dropping him off at the wrong one. "I'm in Room 16", he tells the receptionist but it seems someone called Danielle is already in Room 16, so unless Steve has, er, booked a friend for the evening we are in the wrong place. A quick phone call reveals he's in the one a mile down the road (who knew there were so many Premier Inns in Warrington?) so we pack all his stuff back up, and head off again. 

Once he's in the right place we head to ours, and get our first good result of the week. "I'm afraid the rooms you have booked are being renovated", we are told on arrival, "so we've upgraded you to the Premier Plus rooms." What a touch. Walk-in rainfall shower, here I come...

It's only 9.50pm so I head for a pint next door, only to find the doors of the place locked. It's an early night then. I'll get the double up next morning when I head for breakfast at 7.45am, only to still find the doors firmly bolted. So it's breakfast in the Premier Inn instead, and I have to say it was very good indeed. 

We head for Aintree good and early and arrive at the car park around 9am. I say car park - regular readers might recall the bookmakers' "car park" is little more than an overgrown patch of land opposite the track. It's normally £60 for the three days, but the cost of living has also affected car park owners, it seems, and it's an eye-watering £90 this time around. 

And the state of it. It's bad enough in dry weather, with the vines on the ground waiting to literally trip you up at any moment, but two days of wet weather have turned it to something akin to where you might have staged Junior Kick Start thirty years ago. 

So, hauling the gear on suddenly becomes an Olympic sport, and I'm sweating and knackered before we've even got going. 

In the mornings I can avoid the tedium after the pick by using the press facilities, which I do every day, but for the rest it really is a case of standing around waiting to get going. And when we do, as expected, business comes in dribs and drabs. 

Initially Stage Star is popular but the moment 2-1 Banbridge appears on the board, in come the Euros for him. And they're right, with Stage Star finding it coming too quick after Cheltenham and the fresher Banbridge coming out on top. Banbridge had been my Cheltenham banker, so it was a blow to see him taken out there; this is some compensation. 

Zenta is no good in the next and Shiskin lands the £700-£400 I'd taken, although it looked most unlikely for 90% of the race. We bet with and without the favourite for the Aintree Hurdle and I take the inevitable each-way bet on Constitution Hill. The bloke in question has a tenner each-way; enjoy your £1.25 profit, sir. 

It's strange weather, this. The sun is out but it isn't warm, with the wind keeping the temperature down. However, I'm stood right in the sun and can feel its heat, so take precautions and slap a bit of sunscreen on my bonce. Behind the joint, however, Colin is in the shade and not only has his anorak on, but is reaching for his gloves. 

Famous Clermont is popular in the Foxhunters and the Irish are back with the Euros for Dancing On My Own in the Red Rum. Dysart Enos is barely a good result in the last and that's Day One done. Punters in front, for sure. 

Tea/dinner (dependant on where you're from) is Nando's, with the forever-locked pub now forsaken. I do like the occasional Nando's, and we order the family platter for the five of us. There's plenty left over at the end and I'm only too happy to help clear up. As Colin often points out, "if ever there's an eating competition between the bookmakers, we're putting you in to bat." Harsh. But probably true. 

Thursday is the quietest day of the three, Friday and Saturday are busier and so we are joined by two more workers, Paul and Martin (aka BMW). Martin joined us last night and immediately had a result. On checking in he was told the room he had booked had been trashed by the couple in there the night before (trashing a Premier Inn, how sad do you have to be?) and so had to have a different room, one with a wet room. As compensation, free breakfast. The best sort of breakfast there is. 

The sun is well and truly out today, and shaven-headed Martin goes straight for my sunscreen. I like working with Martin, he always has a tale to tell from his days working with Racing Raymond (most of them utterly unprintable for this column) and, given he has an eye for the ladies, today is most definitely his day. 

The sun does not last long. Showers are predicted from 2pm and whilst the timing is about right, the rain is set in. It's never a good thing for business, and especially on a big day like today. The ladies have already abandoned their heels for flip-flops, but my word their feet, in the mud and rain, become filthy very quickly. On the plus side, whilst their dress length may be short, their betting knowledge is longer, and they know a fiver each-way is a tenner, not a fiver, and don't back favourites each-way. Having said that, you all know I took a £2.50ew Gerri Colombe in the first. 

The handicap hurdle that follows is one of those where they all latch on to the same runners, namely Pull Again Green and Camprond. When neither can be found with radar at the finish, it's going to be a winning race. 

They all want Luccia in the next, but I don't fancy her and place lay her. She doesn't win but in rolling in third costs me a few quid. The Irish pile into Fakir d'Oudaries in the next and I take a €400 bet at 2s, but he can never quite get to Pic D'Orhy and that's another good race for us. Not as good as the Topham, though - not a single bet is struck on my joint on Bill Baxter. A skinner in the big race, and only five people have backed anything in the frame. Incredible. 

We've had two very attractive ladies betting all afternoon with us, not only attractive but good fun to chat to. (Note; Martin is doing most of the chatting.) It's their first time at the races and have had the crash course from us, so know what they're doing by now. One has her last tenner on Apple Away in the next, and I'm delighted for her when it wins. As is she. Punctuation in the last isn't a skinner, perhaps surprisingly, as two people have crystal balls better than mine and have had a tenner each-way on him. One admits to backing the wrong horse, but decided to stick with it anyway, which turns out to be the best decision they'll have made all day. 

With the results very much turning in the bookmakers' favour, it looks like a Friday night Nando's is once again on the cards. We troop over but it's absolutely packed, and as we don't fancy a 90-minute wait, it has to be Pizza Hut instead. The lady serving us is on her last day of service with the company and it would be very easy for her to basically go through the motions with us before she packs up for the night, but far from it. She talks us through all the deals, and couldn't be more attentive if she tried. She gets a good tip. 

Saturday. Grand National Day. We're at the track before nine and having heaved the gear through the ploughed field that is the car park, head on in. Straight away it is noticeable how much security has tightened. Everyone's on edge. Even the mush (the umbrella, for those unaware) gets searched. There's clearly a feeling something is going to kick off, but as yet, where and when remains a mystery. 

In the press room there's donuts and, later, champagne kicking about. I wouldn't normally, not that early anyway, but it seems rude not to. Pork pie, you say? Don't mind if I do. I take another piece for later. 

Let's get betting then. The place feels rammed and despite the first hardly being a betting heat, with Jonbon a 2-11 chance, the forecast option is very popular, with Jonbon to beat Calico the choice of the punters. We're staring at a big payout before Calico departs at the last; maybe that's an omen for the day. 

Or maybe not. Loads of £20 and £50 bets come sailing in for West Balboa and she duly obliges in the next. A monkey comes in for Hermes Allen to recover the Cheltenham losses but Irish Point proves too good for them. He's going to be a force next year, for sure. Not many back Sire Du Berlais either, although one bloke is on a roll, having started with £30 on West Balboa, playing £60 of that up on Irish Point and has now had £100 on Sire Du Berlais. I advise him he can buy lottery tickets at all good newsagents. His next move is £130 on Midnight River at 7-1; when that wins, I tell him to buy two. 

And now, Grand National time. A grand is thrust my way, the punter wanting £500 e/w on Fury Road at 33s. The simply matter is if that wins, we haven't enough float to pay him, so he's laid half that. He's happy and has the rest next door. £100 bets are flying around my ears, mainly for Any Second Now, Delta Work (again, a £250 e/w laid) and Le Milos. 

Then the announcement rings out. "There will be a delay to the start of the race." 

And that's really about it, we hear no more from the PA (as deafening as ever, they haven't listened to a word we said about it last year) until they are going down. However, the power of social media tells us everything that's going on over on the far side, and protestors are indeed now on the course. I'm not here to get into the politics of it all, I shall leave that to others far cleverer than I, but I can tell you it was a massive pain on the day. The only positive I could find was that the ridiculous one-hour gap to the last (utterly unnecessary, 40 minutes would be more than enough) was bridged to around half an hour. 

Remarkably, Corach Rambler is a decent result. Not many have backed it, and the payout queue is not a long one. All we need to do now is get the last out of the way, with business unsurprisingly dropping right off (many head straight for the exits after the National) and head home. 

Farewell car park, I hope you've dried up by next year. Better still, had some concrete over the top of you. I think that's probably asking too much. Knackered, but paid up and with a little bonus, it's time to go back to Nottingham. See you all next time.

- DM

Roving Reports: Here, There and Everywhere

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I was going to write the next part of the blog after Aintree, as I was expecting that to be the next time anything even remotely exciting was going to happen, but last week turned into a busier week than I expected it to, writes David Massey.

It started on Sunday, at Garthorpe Point-To-Point. Having been denied my point fix when Revesby was called off during the cold snap this winter, I was determined to go, particularly as the weather forecast was favourable.

If you've never been pointing, you ought to give it a go. Don't worry about getting lost on the way there - once you're within ten miles of the track, you can follow any dirty 4x4 or Land Rover and be pretty sure you'll end up in the right spot. Tweed is a given, even on a warm day, and if you've a dog, so much the better.

There's a good crowd, maybe somewhere between 800-1000 is my best guess, and they are treated to some close finishes. Sadly none of them involve the horses I back during the afternoon, and my best result is the lamb and mint burger (local farm, naturally) for a fiver which is so tasty, I end up taking a pack of four home. Buy local, buy British, go pointing!

Having done the lot in, I nearly bag a pheasant on the way home. He darts out from a field and runs right in front of the car. How I missed him I'll never know. I see him running off in the rear view mirror, seemingly unaware of his near-death experience. Suffice to say, he's been a sight luckier than I have today.

Monday sees me back on the S&D team at Southwell and that too is reasonably well attended. Fixtures between Cheltenham and Aintree normally see attendances go down, as once the euphoria of Cheltenham is over, people tend to wait for Aintree or switch their attentions to the Flat, and the midweek fixtures are particularly hard hit. However, Southwell bucks the trend, and after I do the punters panel with Steven Powell before racing and give Rostello (11/2) in the first, we've a few more happy punters at my joint. As ever, our regular punters get BOG, and it matters not whether you're having £2 on or £200, they all get it. Plenty of books will give you benefits if you become a regular with them, whether that be BOG or next price up.

Joe Dadancer is my nap on the preview and his win gets me some of the Garthorpe losses back. I like him a lot, it'll be interesting to see where he turns up next.

Market Rasen on the Wednesday is my next port of call. The usual A46 (Northern version) bottlenecks around Newark aren't as bad as normal and I've time for a coffee on the way up. This is a mistake, as for the last ten miles to the track I'm bursting for the toilet. Let that be a lesson to you all. Get to the track first, then have a beverage.

The ground is supposed to be on the soft side, but as I drive into the grassy car park and the back end of my Auris steps out in an Ari Vatanen moment (Google, young 'un) I have my suspicions it may be worse than that. After they come back from the first with plenty of dirt on them, I go back through the card and start laying anything that doesn't want the mud. It's a successful ploy, and it also leads me to back the no-hoper Leskinfere at 10 on Betfair three places. When he rolls in a distant third the Garthorpe losses are but a memory. I celebrate with a chocolate biscuit (the best ones are wrapped in foil, another little tip for you there...) and a strong tea.

Thursday sees me at Warwick, which I wasn't intending doing but I need to pick some bookmaking kit up for Stratford on Sunday and the bookmaker I'm working for will be at Warwick, so it makes sense to meet there and collect it rather than run around like an idiot on Saturday. It's a beautiful day and the sun makes me think Spring is finally here. I shall discover later in the week this is not the case.

One of the regular Midlands bookmakers is missing from the fixture, and indeed all Midlands fixtures for the foreseeable. Swannbet, better known as Graham and Natalie to me, will sadly not been seen for a while as Graham, we find out, has cancer. I send him a message to wish him well and hope we will see him back in his rightful place in the ring before much longer. Sport is important, but it pales into insignificance at times, and today feels like one of those times.

Punting wise on the day, it's pretty much straight across for me with three bets that aren't sighted but I do have a few bob on Mr Palmtree on Betfair, as he looks in superb condition. Sadly I give too much back in running but he does at least ensure the day isn't a disaster. On the way home the police are holding traffic on the M69 due to a bad crash near Leicester; annoying as that is, when you pass the accident and see the mangled wrecks the cars are, you always thank your lucky stars it isn't you caught up in it. A 20 minute delay is neither here nor there compared to our health.

Next morning I get a call from Jason on the S&D firm. "Don't suppose you can work Sunday at Ascot, can you?" I'm not keen, if I'm honest, but Jason is desperate for a worker (most of them are on holiday, it turns out) so I'm happy to oblige this once. I'm already booked to work Stratford on Saturday, so it makes sense to stay over and travel onto Ascot Sunday morning.

I do love working Stratford. I think it's just about my favourite track to work. Always a decent atmosphere and as I've said before, the whole crowd seems to have a bet. It's only small money but you feel busy and you can make a book. However, my hearing seems to be getting worse; I was convinced one bloke asked me for two pounds on something, but when he gets a ruck of nifties from his pocket it's clear he's asked me for two grand. I lay him a monkey of it and tell him if he wants more, go and see my boss. He gets on, but his pick loses. He's back again next race, has a grand on the jolly, and watches that finish tailed off too. We don't see him again.

Both results and business are good and there's a little top-up on wages at the end of the day. Pays for the evening meal, and after a poor night's sleep (I never sleep well away from home) it's off to Ascot.

I get there early as I want to do a bit of work in the press room in the morning. Perhaps unsurprisingly the place is somewhat deserted, but that does mean when lunch comes out (chicken, veg, roasties and Yorkshires) there's plenty to go around. That's very welcome as when I go down to the ring to work, it's absolutely Baltic.

The main stand is basically causing a split between the front and back of the place. Round the back, by the paddock, there's barely a breath of wind, the sun is radiating heat and people are outside drinking and eating. Out front, in the wind and shade, there are polar bears running around wearing anoraks, it's that cold.

It's a family fun day at Ascot so you know what that means. Small money, lots of it, and rather than a fiver I make sure my minimum bet for the day is £2. That works, but it also means I'm out of change by Race 2.

Next door to me is Steve Bailey, aka Stevie Stretch. Steve, like me, enjoys these family days and is happy to show the kids how things work (all within the 18-plus boundaries, of course). Two mums are by his joint with three young kids, the youngest of which keeps touching all Steve's change. And like most kids, the more he tells her not to touch it, the more she touches it. I sneak up behind them, gesturing to Steve to be quiet, before sticking my head in and saying, in a stern voice, "I hope nobody is touching the change over here." You've never seen a kid put her arms by her sides so quickly.

Do you remember me telling you on a previous blog how, on these days when you're dealing with mainly novice punters, how they work their way from the top of the board to the bottom? As such, Blueking D'Oreaux, number 1 on the race card and top of the lightboard, is a real punters result on a day like today. Loads have had their £2.50 and fiver each-ways on; the other joint has taken a £100 win bet at 40-1. There's some serious concern we might run out of money, for all that's obviously a good result. I scrape together what I can spare for Jason's four-grand payout and it leaves me with about £300 after we've paid out. I need a result in the next to get the cash flow back up; Black Gerry provides respite, although I'm delighted for the lady who had a tenner each-way as her grandad, Gerry, had passed away earlier in the week, she tells me.

My only bet of the day, Charging Point, looks like winning coming to the last but gets it all wrong and I have to settle for the place money. I swear it's getting colder and by the time we get to the last the place has emptied quite a lot. Get paid, pack up and go home. On the way back I call into Toddington Services for food, sadly I'm in there the same time as about 500 jubilant Bolton supporters on their way back from Wembley after winning the Papa Johns Trophy earlier. So, fast food it ain't, with a 40 minute wait for a Chicken Royale and a drink. On the way back to the car I hear my name called; it is none other than Laura Morgan, trainer of Charging Point. "Caught you in the act", she says, referring to my unhealthy meal. I tell her I thought her horse was unlucky and she agrees. "He's off for a break now", she tells me. And I'm off home, getting back about 8.30pm, with an aching back and legs. Standing around in the wind all day really takes it out of you. Especially at my age...

- DM

Roving Reports: The Going’s Hard in Places

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After a month of sand action, it's been good these past couple of weeks to get out and about, and it does feel as if spring is just around the corner now, writes David Massey.

Having said that, I write this as we've just endured another week of frost and fog; although, thankfully, we've only lost a couple of fixtures to the weather, and it looks like relenting completely in time for Newbury and Warwick this weekend. Warwick will be my stop-off, but for the time being here's the latest update on where I've been.

Cheltenham's nine-race card saw me in attendance to do paddock notes and pick up some pointers for the Festival; and I can tell you that of all those I saw, Edwardstone was the one I thought would come on most for the run. The trainer seemed happy enough afterwards, too, and he's the one to beat in the Champion Chase for me.

After the weekend's action from Dublin, this looks one of the most open Festivals for many a year. Normally, about this sort of time, you're formulating ideas about the likely ones for the Grade 1 contests but, Constitution Hill aside, I do think plenty of the other races are up in the air to varying degrees. That can only be a good thing, right?

Anyway, I digress. February is officially Bookmaker Holiday month and plenty from around here disappear off to foreign climes for a few weeks, coming back refreshed in time for the Festival. It means that I'm stepping into the breach for much of the month to work places I wouldn't normally, and that started off with Fakenham last week.

I've extolled the virtues of Fakenham in many an article over the years and, once again, it didn't disappoint. I worked the rail for S&D and it was steady, if smallish, business all afternoon. That's the beauty of Fakenham, everyone has a bet, even if it's just a couple of quid, as they all have their favourites that run at the track. Whilst the days of Cool Roxy are behind us now, there are still the course specialists around, and you can guarantee there will be money for them.

Speaking of money flying around the ring, a certain trainer could be seen backing his Dev Of Tara before the first and we copped for a monkey's worth of it at 4-1, only to watch the price collapse before our eyes. It duly won pulling a bus, and that rather set the tone for the day. We couldn't get them off Ben Buie in the next - I think literally every member of the partnership that owned him was there - and him winning actually left us short on cash for the rest of the day. Three of the next four favourites winning did not help our cause, but Cloudy Wednesday was barely backed (it was a Thursday, after all) and ensured the day wasn't a total write-off. I went to buy some lemon drizzle and a couple of sausage rolls from the home-made cake stall at the end of the day to make things complete. Fakenham's that sort of a place. You really should go. [Hear hear, Ed.]

Saturday saw an early start (up at half six, lovely) to get to Sandown to work for MT Racing. Normally you don't have to go so early but on Saturdays the pick time - when you decide where you'll stand and bet for the day - is earlier than it is in the week, and at Sandown it's 90 minutes before the first race. That means an 11.05 kick-off. Needless to say it is quiet early on, and an odds-on jolly in the first doesn't help us. I take a £100 forecast on the jolly to beat the second-in at 7-4, which seems a very fair price to me. Other than that, business is very slow, but we assume it'll improve as the day goes on.

We are wrong, very wrong. The rugby on at Twickenham later in the afternoon has killed it stone dead. I have never seen Sandown so quiet on a Saturday. That winning £100 bet on the forecast is the biggest bet I'll take all day. Actually that's not true - he had the whole £275 back on Twinjets in the next, and that gets beat, but that's it. A Saturday at the biggest meeting, on the front row, and we don't take 300 bets all day. The results are irrelevant as we aren't taking enough. At the end of the day we've just about covered the expenses. A 14-hour day, if you include travel time, for nowt. Surely things will be better at Hereford tomorrow?

A later start means I'm not up at the crack of dawn, but it's a good job we always leave plenty of time as around ten miles outside of Hereford, we encounter what appears to be some sort of protest. Tractors are blocking the road, about 20 of them, on a go slow. We're crawling along at 9mph and do so for about three miles. Thankfully, from our point of view, they turn off and we can continue our journey without further delay.

When we get to Hereford, the sun is out and it looks a bit busier than Sandown did. It's very much a family day. Boys with footballs, girls doing cartwheels. That sort of a day. It means we'll take money but it won't be big money. Still, if you take enough you can work with it, so we are hopeful. Again.

For the second day, it's misplaced hope. It turns out many are just here for the sunshine and a day out. A few back the first winner, Amidnightstar, trained by James Evans, at 40-1 with us. James was the first person I bumped into on arrival at the track. He could have let me know. Anyway, that's a winning race to start with, but it'll just about be the only one, with the next four winners all well backed.

I've got an Irish lad, here with his family, betting with me, having about £80 a race on. He asks for some 15-2 Lily Glitters despite it being 13-2 on my board but as he's been betting with me all afternoon, his loyalty is rewarded and I lay him £60 ew. He's delighted when it wins and as a thank you he gives me a score for a drink when he picks up. I like this guy. I split the twenty with Martin, who is working with me today, as that's the fair thing to do.

We bet without the odds-on jolly in the last but what money we take is for the winner Out Of Focus, so that's no good either. For the second day this weekend, we've just about covered the expenses at the end of the day. A total of 550 miles, ten hours on the road, for a grand profit of around a bullseye. Let's see if Warwick on Saturday and Southwell on Sunday prove any better...

- DM

Roving Reports: Silver or Gold at Newbury?

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The light is just breaking through as I leave the house to get my lift for Newbury's two-day meeting, the highlight of which is the Coral Gold Cup, which has had a promotion, having formerly been the Ladbrokes Silver Trophy, writes David Massey. I'm being picked up at a local tennis club, where unsurprisingly, no-one is having a knock-up at 8am.

We are going very early as, being a Friday morning, there's a good chance we'll encounter motorway traffic. Needless to say we sail down without so much as a "queue ahead" sign and arrive considerably earlier than we planned. I could have had another hour in bed.

Newbury is an easy track to hump the gear on, as they let you park right next to the ring to unpack it all, and then it's a short pull to the ring itself. The joint set up, there's plenty of time for tea and a chat with a few of the other books.

The general consensus seems to be the train strikes, due Saturday, won't affect business that much. We will see. Chat turns to the World Cup, and Martyn Of Leicester reveals he's had a decent bet on Iran to beat the Welsh. It's currently 0-0, but the roar goes up late in the match and he's off and running even before we've had a race. Money without work, indeed.

I'm working on the rails for the next couple of days and the first, and welcome, surprise is that all the rails joints have been cleaned. One of a bookmaker's expenses is paying for a rails/ring joint, if they hire one, and of course you've no choice if you're on the rails. However, the rails joints are often wet, or dirty, or both, and using them can be unpleasant. Not today though, they're in pristine condition. I hide my lunch in the hod.

We get betting an hour before the first, and needless to say, it's quiet. There's time to fetch more tea, although the day isn't cold. Far from it; in fact, the sun is out and actually providing some warmth. It's evens each of two my coat coming off before the first. Unheard of in late November, but we are where we are.

Finally some punters arrive. One thing about Newbury is the bet size is generally bigger here than at other tracks. Most punters have a tenner or a twenty on, even those that are fairly novice and just here for a day out. There's nobody wanting to back the odds-on favourite, Jet Powered, but we take plenty of each-way money for both Fuji Rocks and West Park Boy. That all stays with us as Half Dozen rolls in for third.

Frere D'Armes is a decent result in the second and we're off to a good start. Sadly, a fair chunk is given back by the books on Stay Away Fay, who looks beat at one point but as Russian Ruler hits the wall late, comes through to win.

A little known fact is that the only men you'll find in the toilets whilst the race is on are bookmakers and their workers. For most of us, it's the only chance we get if we need to relieve ourselves of the morning mugs of tea. There will be the usual chat about how it's all going, whether you're winning or losing, that sort of thing. The talk is of whether we can get Stage Star beat at prohibitive odds; it turns out we can.

One woman has had not one, but two, £10 bets on Sebastopol at 20-1 and is delighted to pick up her £420. She's done a lot better than her mate, who had a fiver on Stage Star, and now regrets not taking her friend's advice.

We also cop the lot on the forecast. When there's not many runners we can get the forecast on the board too, and Newbury is a place where punters do like having a forecast bet. More so than anywhere else, in my opinion. No idea why.

Having praised the track faithful for their general bet size, there's no big money around at all today, and the biggest bet I take is on the Long Distance Hurdle, a £200 wager on Champ, which never looks like getting beaten despite the fact it's only a neck at the line.

We get a result in the last, and with our digs for the night only ten minutes away, I'm in the shower by half four and having a nap fifteen minutes later. Lovely. Later, we find a pub to watch the first half of the England game, and it's so dull I'm thinking of starting a Mexican wave. There's a poster on the wall telling patrons that drug taking on the premises will not be tolerated, but I'm pretty sure the bloke in front of me has the jazz fags out. Food, and time for bed.

Saturday, and we're up and running an hour before the first. These early starts are not good for betting purposes; whereas a 2pm start in the summer means you've people around having a drink and a bet, in winter a 12.15 start means people just stay inside keeping warm until midday.

The no-sock brigade are still around but, much like Covid, not in the same numbers as two years ago. Perhaps, after months of wrecking their feet and having them stinking like squashed skunks, they've all realised that covering them up is the future. I bet their chiropodist bills were through the roof.

Anyway, I digress. Luccia gets the favourite backers off to a good start, despite a late drift, and one punter who has had £300 on with us at 6-5 has the lot back on Thyme Hill. That stays in the hod, as does all the Saturday money on Mortlach, for whom all the fivers and tenners are, forcing his price down from 16s to 9s at the off. If that had been a midweek race we wouldn't have taken a penny for Mortlach, but the out-for-the-weekend punters ensure he's well backed on days like this.

Zanza is a shocking result for most of the books, but they get it back with interest on Red Risk who, at 20-1, goes almost unbacked with us. I say almost - we've 2 x £10 bets to pay out, one from a woman who, she tells me, backs everything with "red" in the name. I'm doing it wrong, clearly; I give her a free pen for the advice.

Constitution Hill is winning the Fighting Fifth on the big screen. Round the back, by the paddock, Nicky is getting a round of applause and tips his hat, which looks like it's come direct from Vladivostok, to the crowd. Around the front, it barely creates a ripple.

First Street isn't actually a bad result for us as they all want Teddy Blue, who can manage no better than third. Then the big race, and I'm expecting big queues. They don't materialise. Trade on the not-the-Hennessy is 50% down on what it was last year. As it was earlier in the year at York, the train strikes have really had an effect on turnover.

The last bet I take is a debit card bet from a lad rushing up on the off to have £100 on Le Milos at 9-2. He's the first in the payout queue though. I've a monkey ready bundled up and give him that, and as I get his other £50 ready, he walks off waving the money at his mates. "Oi!", I shout after him, holding his other fifty quid, "is this my Christmas tip?"

His mates are rightly laughing at him. It's a good job I'm honest. Sheepishly he makes his way back through the crowd for his bullseye.

And, of course, as it should be, Amarillo Sky sends the punters home happy as a well-backed 11-8 jolly in the last. It's starting to rain, and it's almost dark. Time to go home, I reckon...

- DM

Roving Reports: No Rest for the Wicked

/in /by

So, since Royal Ascot you might think things would go a little quieter, but you'd be wrong, very wrong, writes David Massey. Since then, I've visited Cartmel on our holidays the week after Ascot (highly recommended, if only to visit the Sticky Toffee Pudding shop - try the ginger one, superb, and only a thousand calories per spoonful), and have worked at Southwell, Stratford, Newbury, Haydock, York and Uttoxeter. 

If ever you've thought about becoming a workman for one of the books, there's never been a better time to give it a try. Covid saw a lot of them, starved of work on the tracks for so long, take other, full time, jobs in driving and retail industries. When it was time to come back to the tracks, they simply said no, with more secure jobs on offer. No-one could blame them for taking such a stance but ever since plenty of the books have struggled to fill those positions and as such, particularly in the summer, they are simply unable to staff all their joints. Bookmakers with good pitches at big tracks are having to let them go to waste on a Saturday. Seriously, if you want racecourse work, it’s out there. 

Haydock last Saturday was a prime example. A sell out crowd for Madness, we expected a full line of bookmakers in the Silver Ring, but only eight turned up. We couldn't get them on quick enough and even more so when my keyboard packed up on race three. Instead of two of us taking bets, we were down to just one, and that means you take twice as long to clear a queue that never went down. Technology is wonderful when it works, a pain in the backside when it lets you down at the most inconvenient of moments. [Hear hear! Ed.]

The fez (not to be confused with The Fez, jumps fans) was the headgear of choice for the crowd on Saturday (the Madness merchandise stall was knocking them out at seven quid a pop) although fair play to the one guy who went for the pith helmet (from the Night Boat To Cairo video) which looked pretty heavy. On a warm night, we salute you, sir. 

As expected, it was all small money. One lad, in a "Billionaire's Boys Club" T-shirt, asks me for 50p e/w the favourite in the first. I'm guessing he's not a member. Or maybe he is, perhaps that's the key to riches. 

"Mr Musk, how come you have so much money?" 

"I keep stakes on those 0-65's at Haydock to an absolute minimum. The draw can be a complete guess-up." 

With the last race at nine, it was midnight before I was back home, and thanks to Stratford bringing their meeting forward to a midday start, it meant rising at 7.30 Sunday morning to be there for 10am for Ladies Day. Oh, the glamour of it all. Fair play to Stratford, though; I was sceptical about the 12 start, thinking it would make little difference as far as the heat went, but it was the right decision, with the afternoon noticeably hotter than it was at lunchtime. 

I like Stratford. It's a great little track that always gets a crowd and they all have a bet. It's all small money on Sunday, although someone came in with an even £300 on Pop The Champagne, which duly obliged. Pop The Champagne is owned by my friend Jill, who has had some success with High Wells recently, too. I say 'friend', she's actually my stalker, by her own admission! But it's always a pleasure to see her. 

Haydock isn't the only late finish I've had recently. Newbury's evening meeting on the 7th saw me working on the rails, with business just fair. The most unusual thing about Newbury is the placement of the hand driers in the men's toilets, which are not actually in the toilets but the entrance, often resulting in people being unable to move if someone's using the drier, and blocking anyone going in or out. You wonder who thought that was a good idea. 

Anyway, another post-midnight finish on the day and, worse still, quite possibly a speeding ticket. I'm generally good with speed limits (an unblemished license for seven years now) but with roadworks on the M1 I missed the 50 limit and the camera flashed. However, over a week has passed, and no ticket as yet. I'm now 10-11 each of two to get one, having been fours on last week, with just another 72 hrs to go. If I get one, I'll have worked for little that night. 

From Newbury it was up to York the next day, where, rather than working in the ring as is usually the case, I was on the rails for John Smith’s day. It was busy from the word go, with plenty of decent bets coming in, although as was pointed out to me by my work colleague Martin, we were working next to two very attractive young ladies.

“How the hell are us ugly sods supposed to take a bet against them?” he groaned. Well, we just had to be as efficient as we could, clear the queue and then start pulling them in off the backs of the other queues, that’s how. To me, the Saturday was good business but it needed to be after a disaster of a Friday (four winning favourites, three second favourites) but one or two of the big books were saying business was about 30% down on pre-Covid levels. For some of them, the Saturday was something of an acid test to see whether business really has dropped off or if it could return, and the signs, according to plenty, were not good. 

It does look as if this level of business is now the new normal, and some of the books are now having to cut their cloth accordingly. That, coupled with the lack of staff, means there’s plenty of pitches for sale right now, if you fancy a go yourself...

It's York again this weekend for me, which is always a laugh, especially if I'm on the back line next to the Paul Johnson crew. David, often seen on Racing Post Greyhound TV trying to put up a winner at his beloved Doncaster these days, has an opinion on most things, and most of them are wrong. He could start a fight with himself half the time, but he's a good friend and we'll spend the two days winding each other up. I'll tell you how that goes next time.

 - DM