(Highlights a McCain/Hughes treble yesterday and Bryony on Frodon today.
Lowlights – quite a few!)
I like cash. I always have. I pay for most simple purchases that way and feel undressed without, say, a hundred quid on me. As with many things, this makes me a dinosaur. The last time I was in London I didn’t see a single transaction the whole time I was there that was in hard money. It was all people waving cards and phones over readers. This actually worries me. I can see a situation where chaos could ensue. But that isn’t what I came here to write about.
I came instead to reminisce on how much more thrilling it was back in them olden days to win money on the horses in cold hard cash, than it is now, winning numbers on a screen. I remember my first big win when I was living in Easton, a poor part of Bristol. I can’t remember how much it was, exactly. Let’s say it was £500, which is no life-changer but, back then, to me, and to everyone else who lived there, was a very nice wedge indeed.
So nice that, when I went to William Hill to pick it up, plenty of people in the shop noticed. The chap behind the counter counted the notes out as furtively as he could, slipped them in a brown envelope and whispered “Hang on, I’ll let you out the back.” I sprinted home, excited and scared, a delirious ball of adrenalin. Once safely inside, I chucked the money down on the kitchen table and did a wee dance.
Enter Anne. She picked up most of it without a word, went out and came back with a set of Le Creuset saucepans. Which wasn’t quite what I had planned. Still, 30 years later, we still use the pans, so that was as much of a hairy hunter as I’ve ever got…