10 am
On a hot day they have the door open
and hang the multi-coloured thingy up
to screen the passers-by.
The manager, Vic, in his short-sleeved shirt,
writes tempting forecasts
in thick coloured markers.
An early punter is scouring the papers.
The girls behind the bandit screens
count their floats.
Time yet before the pubs open
for yesterday’s winners
to call in and collect.
Vic tries to drum up interest
in the footie, everyone here hates Man U
but no-one will bet against them.
Behind the screens the girls start to smoke.
11 am
In the corner on a stool
Harry Henderson sits talking
with Michael O’Leary.
Dressed both in funeral black
she’s being buried at twelve
so they’ve just got time
for the first at York.
Barry, the landlord of the Old Hat
comes in with a wad of slips
and nods to all his customers.
Desmond comes to stand
right up by the screens
so he can eye up the girls.
He always asks how they’re doing,
then tells them how bad things really are.
12 pm
“How’s yer father?”
Joe says it to everyone.
“How’s yer father?”
he roots deep in pockets
finds a handful,
“Ten bob on ‘How’s Yer father’.”
Has a good scratch, turns
pulls his pants up higher.
The betting gets serious now.
Punters crowd by the counter
ready for the best price,
one eye on the telly.
Someone changes their mind
a last minute gamble
and they’re off!
1 pm
Lee conducts his business from the shop.
In and out on the mobile.
All morning it’s five hundred quid on trap number one.
Bernie’s already dropped a grand
but he’s still cheerful,
he changes girls,
“See if you bring me some luck.”
He knows there got to be
one winner.
2 pm
He sways at the counter,
“I know Joan of Arc.”
His eyes disregard you.
“You gave me a cuppa tea once,”
he nods knowingly,
“I remember,
you saved my life.”
As he heads for the gents
they make space for him.
3 pm
Big race at Doncaster.
Two horses are neck and neck
They shout and whip the air
and even the girls are interested.
Everyone’s got their bet on.
Tango Dream wins by a nose
and the floor is showered in pink slips.
4 pm
“Hey! I gave you a tenner.”
The horses are lining up.
“Give me my fucking money!”
Bets are being pushed in under the screen
“Last bets please.”
“D’you see this?
“Thieving raasclat,
white trash bitch,
give me my money!”
The horses are five furlongs gone
bets are still being written,
“Take my bet!
“Take my fucking bet!”
JD and John B
thump their fists on the glass.
JD’s horse wins.
He throws pens on the floor
swears he’s going to Paddy Power
5 pm
York and Rippon are finished.
Marco “I really love you” Vincenzo
bounces about as his money’s counted out.
“Marry me?” he asks all the girls
crooning to himself in his deep voice
they pull back at the reek.
Desmond peers over his reading glasses,
watches Vic working out
the round robins and accumulators.
Desmond’s worked his out at £4.37,
not the £4.35 they try to give him.
6 pm
Pat puts his tin of Special Brew down
gives the girls a handful
of scrunched pink slips.
They check each one and pass them back,
“Sorry love, no winners there.”
he stares at them confounded.
7pm
The doors are locked.
The tills don’t tally.
One’s a tenner up,
the other two
a fiver down.
It’s been a good day.