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Easy Money (Cheltenham 1992)… part two

Submitted by on April 3, 2014 – 8:49 amNo Comment


Part two of a short story…

I find our room, take the money from under the draw, put it in my shirt pocket, put me shirt under me pillow and I get me head down. That’s till Gods knows what time when I hear all this commotion outside the door. Sod it I think, then I realise who it is- woman’s a voice is saying

-you can’t sleep there sir.

And Tony who must be lying outside the door is saying

-Don’t you worry about me doll, I’ve slept in worse places.

I sling my trousers on and open the door and see this midget chambermaid trying to help Tony up. He’s well gone so I lend her a hand and we get him in the room. She’s a sweet girl with a soft Scots accent and a nice pair of tits, so I give her a fiver tip. Hey, after all it is Cheltenham. Tony slumps down on the floor.

-Get some drink in, he says

I pick up a wall phone and order a bottle of vodka and half a dozen bottles of orange. About half an hour later I’m lying on the bed watching a soft porn film- it’s one of them pay as you view, seven pound a throw on your room bill but like I say ‘it’s Cheltenham’, when there’s a knock on the door. I answer it and it’s this coffin dodger in a white jacket- he’s got a tray with a bottle of vodka on it, half a dozen short arsed bottles of orange and a bucket of ice. He must have heard about Tony’s condition and brought the ice to throw over him. He steps over the still prostrate Tony, places the tray next to the telly, hands me a chitty and says

-Sign here sir, please.

I suppose you see some funny sights in his job.

-Will that be all Sir? He says

I sign his chitty, give him a two quid tip-he aint got a nice pair of tits. I pour myself a vodka and orange and give Tony a couple of kicks.

-Come on Tenko you bastard, horses to be picked, films to be watched, vodka to be drunk. Come on you chicken livered tosser; this is Cheltenham not bloody Cartmel.

Tony gets up and pours himself a vodka

-Cost a fortune this, he says.

-What, I say

-Fucking waiter service, they’ll charge us twenty quid for this.

And for the hundredth time I say,
-It’s Cheltenham; our money is as good as theirs

We while away the wee hours watching porn, talking horse shit and swigging back vodka. Sometimes life is just too good for words.

Next salute it’s the next morning and there’s a knock on the door

-Jehovah’s Witness, suggests Tony

I answer it; it’s some insomniac delivering a continental breakfast. I’ll tell you no wonder the French never lasted in the Second World War, if that is what passes off for a breakfast over there.
-Is the kitchen still open? I ask.

The waiter an Asian lad with a glorious Brummie accent says

So I bung him a couple of quid, tell him to get on ‘The Fellow’ in the big race and he does one taking the ice bucket with him.

-Dreamt about the wife’s body last night, I say sniggering.

-Dirty sod, says Tony.

-Not really, I say, they were fishing her body out of a canal in the dream.

Tony laughs, I look at him- he drank enough last night to tranquillise a herd of elephants but he’s up and about and as fit as a fiddle. He wants drug testing it just aint natural. Me, I feel like shit but I’ve got to eat. I look at the shite gear they’ve delivered- sod that, I want bacon and eggs.

-Tony do us a favour, I say, nip to the canteen and get us something proper I wouldn’t feed this to a Scouser.

Tony smirks, and starts getting himself ready. Combs his hair and takes his pants out of the trouser press. How was he sober enough to put them in there last night?

- Mine are in a crumpled heap in the corner. He leaves to get some real grub. I pour meself a coffee and he’s back within a minute. I think he’s forgot something, but he aint. He pulls me to the door laughing and I look out- outside lots of the rooms are trays. All the trippers that have played this game before have ordered a full English and newspapers. First thing me and the big fella do is go to the floor above get two cooked breakfasts, a Sporting Life and a Racing Post. Then we whip back to our room for a civilised brekkie of sausage, egg, beans and toast and a study of the days runners.

Tony finishes his breakfast and says
-I could just eat another.

-My turn, I say, you got the last one in

And I scoot down a floor- nobody about so I have it away with another breakfast and a couple of papers.

We eat what we want and decide to take the piss out of the lazy arseholes that still aint got out of their pit. If someone’s ordered a full breakfast we swap it for a continental and if someone’s ordered a Daily Star or a Daily Mirror we swap it for a Guardian. On three floors we caused mayhem.

Then we go back to our room and pick our six for the day. The coach back to the course is leaving at nine thirty so we get all our things together and just about to vacate when a maid turns up.

-Just checking your mini bar, she says.

And opens up this little cupboard that me and Tony haven’t even noticed.

-All present and correct, she says.

Signs a paper and leaves without even locking the cabinet. So we empty the alcoholic contents into our bags, no problem it will be the next punters problem not ours. It’s a nice little haul, four miniatures, two cans of lager and two cans of bitter. Something for our journey back to Cheltenham.
Anyway we amble down to reception to pay for our extras- the porn film and the vodka- when we get there it’s like a deck scene from the sinking of the Titanic- everybody’s throwing a wobbler.

-I ordered a Racing Post and I got a Daily Express, one man is saying.

…Part three tomorrow…

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