Woof

Birthday dogs
Originally uploaded by A Simple Man

Greyhound racing. The sport of the common man. Stale beer. Greasy chips. Chavs.

And a bloody good laugh!

I went to Wimbledon dogs, for the first time, as part of my birthday celebrations. I was joined by other novices and one wannabe John McCririck (blimey, that's tricky to spell) who'd brought along the paper to 'study the odds'.

I, on the other hand, went for the well-thought out route in order to earn my millions - pick the pooch with the best name.

So, my choices ranged from 'Droopys Dalvina' (as it reminded me of an impotent Davina McCall - scientifically impossible, but logic doesn't come into this), through to 'Comans Joe' (it reminded me of the great Schwarzenneger in Conan The Barbarian).

With such a fine system, I ended the night with three wins. Out of eleven races. Left a fiver down. Not quite enough to jack the job in yet.

Next port of call: bingo. Those old biddies clearly know something I don't...