We had a mysterious little betting shop hut with blacked out windows in our pub yard. In 1967 I was allowed to watch the Grand National on TV with my dad and the pub regulars in the snug, sitting there with my pop and crisps, and someone indulged me by putting on a bet of my choice. I can’t remember how much I won on Foinavon at 100 to 1, but I was the only one smiling at the finish line!
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sight where I was brought up.
) knife like a pencil and having a cup of tea with a meal instead of something in a glass.