Clive is a loser

Cooshtie Dave arrived yesterday evening. He's what Ginny calls: 'a south London wide boy.'

Dave is Clive's mate from Croydon. He sells second-hand cars - or motors in Sarf London parlance. As soon as he arrived Clive's voice changed. He started dropping his 'aitches' and 'torkin a bit sarf London mate.' This is how human males bond. That, and going down the pub.

Ginny locked me in the back porch when Dave arrived. For some reason she thinks I get too excited when people come to the house. Just because I got carried away when the milkman came for his money and I widdled on his foot. The milkman was very nice about it, considering. But Ginny was overcome with embarrassment. She insisted on taking his shoes and sponging them down. I think she regretted it. They ponged to high heaven. I saw her wrinkling her nose in disgust at the kitchen sink. Get that man some Trainer Tamers.

Anyway, after the milkman incident I have not been allowed to greet visitors. So when Cooshtie Dave arrived all I could was sit with my ear against the door of the back porch.

'Wotcha mate!'

'Arright boys?'

'How's it going gorgeous?' I think he was talking to Ginny then.

Eventually I was allowed out. Cooshtie Dave fussed over me. 'What you get a poncy dog like this for mate? You want a Staff or a Bull, something with a bit of class.'

'It's Ginny's,' Clive whispered.

'Oh, nuff said.'

The boys like Cooshtie Dave. He's a demon on the yo-yo. Jake had the yo-yos ready and wouldn't let Cooshtie Dave go without a demonstration. Cooshtie Dave also teaches the boys the latest sarf London slang. This year everything is 'triple tidy.' I think that means good.

****

I'm not sure Cooshtie Dave's heart is entirely on the racing. He doesn't seem to find the racing programmes on Channel 4 essential viewing. Unlike Clive. Although, even Clive is beginning to flag. I notice he missed the early morning racing programmes today. He got up just in time for the start of the Morning Line at 8.30am. It's tough schedule he's been keeping especially as he and Cooshtie Dave hit the pub last night and carried on talking and boozing until the small hours. I heard the sound of bottles and glasses clanking as Ginny cleared up the living room this morning.

Ginny got the boys off to school then she cooked a massive fry-up. Fried eggs, sausages, bacon, black pudding, baked beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, fried bread. My mouth has never watered so much in my life. I sat by Cooshtie Dave's chair. I find that if you sit next to someone and gaze, dewy eyed, into their face you might be rewarded with a tasty tit-bit.

'Arrow, you can't sit there! On your bed,' ordered Ginny. I ignored her. Well I'm not technically trained yet and a bit of disobedience will keep her on her toes.

'Oh he's orlright, Gin, luv. I don't mind.' Ginny sat down. Ha ha I've won that one!

It seems Dave had an ulterior motive. He doesn't like black pudding. Every time Ginny turned to put the kettle on or some dishes in the dishwasher, Dave slipped me a nibble of the ultimate delicacy. How can I describe black pudding? It's like nectar, beautifully meaty, yet soft and easy to chew and with an undercurrent of savoury richness. Unbeatable. I scoffed the lot.

Soon after breakfast Cooshtie Dave and Clive left for the third day of THE FESTIVAL -the biggest week in racing's calendar. I hope Clive has some luck today. He came home very depressed after yesterday's racing. Let's see, so far there have been 12 races. Clive has placed at least one bet on each race (and sometimes several). So far he has won ZILCH. 'I've shouted a few home though Ginny,' he said yesterday. It's true his voice is sounding very gravelly. Let's hope he has a good reason to shout today. Ginny wants some wedge - as Cooshtie Dave calls it.

Today could be the day Clive's luck will change. Are the bookies quaking in their boots? I don't think so!