Low life
An otherwise splendid day
Jeffrey Bernard
We had a hell of a time on our bus at Epsom on Derby Day although I was slightly disconcerted by the sight of my 15-year-old daughter and her school-chum swilling champagne all day as though someone had just called last orders. Never mind, it's a good age for a dose of corruption. I also tipped them the last winner at 7-1 which Tom Baker very kindly backed for them. But my big bet on Shadeed came wretchedly unstuck. When I went back the following day for the Coronation Cup I visited the weighing room to speak to Steve Cauthen and to congratulate him on winning the Derby, and another jockey told me he thought Shadeed had run so deplorably because he had become coltish. For the benefit of the uninitiated that means randy and I can well imagine that it must be fairly difficult to gallop with an erection. I once had to beat an extremely hasty retreat from a house by the canal in Islington and I know a little of how it must feel to be unfulfilled at Tattenham Corner. But, as I say, it was an otherwise splendid day. They even stopped the bus at an off licence to get me a bottle of vodka on the way. One glass of cham- pagne in the morning is enough for me. But as Tom said, all buses should have a bar on board especially those big red jobs that people go to work on. Sadly the end of the day was spoilt by She who would drown in my eyes who telephoned me no less than six times in the space of 15 minutes when I got back to the Coach and Horses — she repeated the dose last night at midnight and I think I'll disconnect the phone. Otherwise everybody behaved impeccably and it seems to me that if you eat salmon and strawberries all day long you don't fall over, whatever else you may pour into Yourself. We even had a television on the bus so that we could see more of the races than just the finishes. But the bookmakers on that side of the course are something else. They wear running shoes and if you back the winner of the last you have to nip in and collect a bit smartly. It somehow reminded me of all the 'sleepers' I had in 1971. A sleeper is an uncollected winning bet, by the way. In those days on the Sporting Life I was drinking whisky quite seriously and I had God knows how many Winning bets and then, being pissed, forget Who I'd stuck them with. I was never given a ticket because the bookmakers would tell their clerks, 'Down to Jeff,' and I liked that because it flattered me then that everyone
on the racecourse knew me. What a bloody fool I was. Yes, bookmakers don't run after you to remind you. The only man who would remind you is Victor Chandler but then he's just about the only gentleman on the rails.
But after Derby Day you may imagine my shock, horror and the pallor of my tight-lipped face when I read that letter in last week's Spectator from Corky Latimer ticking me off for having written that our old school, the Nautical College Pang- bourne, was 'awful' or 'ghastly'. Well, it was for me. Corky was, I believe, a cadet captain as opposed to a mere cadet so he had some privileges and he had the advan- tage of having a brain. With no rank and no brain until I was 16 everywhere but everywhere was awful and ghastly, and I include home. And Corky writing that four of our contemporaries are now admirals completely boggles my mind. I shudder to think that they might be any of the four boys who used to smoke cigarettes with me in the woods on Saturday afternoons and who had masturbation races in the dormi- tories. This could be very bad for a company like Cunard if it gets out. But we have survived, I suppose. That nutcase Ken Russell went to Pangbourne as did Beverley Cross the writer, who caned me once for reading a novel during prep. I remember it was Somerset Maugham. But my fondest memory of Pangbourne was getting 12 cuts for uttering a four-letter word beginning with T and it wasn't 'food'. It still makes me twitch to think about it. Sociologists will be surprised to know that it didn't do me any good. In fact it was probably that experience which makes me so rude to editors and policemen of all sorts. But, dear Corky, you shouldn't have implied that readers are not allowed to complain about me. They do all the time and make yourself at home in this respect at any time you like.
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