Catford Dogs
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Dag racing rocks. I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks, but it was even better than I’d thought it might be.
We left the office at half six, having already been drinking vanilla vodka for an hour. Not only was it my birthday celebration, I had also been presented with my long service award at lunchtime, so there was plenty of reason for celebration.
We took the tube down to Waterloo, then delayed overground trains to London Bridge and on to Catford. I thought we’d get there at about have seven, but in the end it was an hour after that. We met Sal and Dan on a rather sparsely populated terrace (Sal said she’s never seen the stadium so empty) just in time to bet on race 4.
None of us had done it before, so Sal assumed teacher role, and taked us through the race card. She explained it wrong, but not knowing that I followed her advice and put a one-pound reverse forecast on dogs two an three, meaning that as long as they both came in the first two, in any order, I would win. Total stake
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