My good friend Anulus Kenders had arranged for us to meet out by the woods near the Old Castle Golf course.
He had been quite mysterious when I asked him why. His only answer had been to cryptically tell me to bring some whisky and a bundle of money.
Oh bloody hell, we aren't visiting that old bag that lives in River Cottage again are we? I swear I couldn't get the moss out from under my foreskin for a month after the last time?
Anulus had laughed.
Oh don't worry old chap. We won't be poling down any mossy canals this time!
I took him at his word and pulled up at the Old Castle Golf course in my car. The car park was rather busy I noted. I got out and immediately spied Anulus. He was standing with a group of splendid fellow gentleman. One of them, in particular, I had not seen in a while. Rory Spufnall.
I bounded over.
Rory! You old cockbiter! How the very devil are you?
Rory turned his formidable bearded visage to me.
BOOMY!! Why of all the pumping fucks of a place to bump into you again!! How is the trading you old pirate dog bastard?!
I preened modestly.
Oh you know, buy shit cheap, sell it dear. Same old nonsense. I'm making a killing. Never mind that though... How is the judging? What is it now, a Lord Justice I hear?
Now it was Rory's turn to preen and well he might. He had blazed up the career ladder of judgery thanks to a combination of good breeding and family connections. He was a fine fellow. A bit deranged with a face like a Macaw's arse but a fine fellow none the less.
Oh you know. These fucking peasants. Getting up to all sorts of peasant skullduggery. Only the other bloody week I was asking if we could bring back hanging. No such luck. Bloody liberals infest the judiciary.
We all nodded at that. I pulled my bottle of Macallan out of a pocket.
Right Anulus, what have you dragged us out here for? I have the whisky but what is the plan?
Anulus grinned.
Well Boomy old chap. How do you fancy betting on the dogs, eh?
I made a face as if the neighbour's cat was licking beef paste from my left bollock again.
Dog racing? It's a bit bloody shit is it not? If I want to see a dog run I will tie a steak to my window cleaner and set the hounds on him.
Rory had pulled out a frankly massive pipe, it looked to be carved from Rhino bone if I wasn't mistaken. He lit it and spoke up.
I will side with old pumper Boomy on this one, it sounds like a shite idea to watch some mangy flea-bitten curs run around a mud track. Can we spice it up and set them on fire or something?
Anulus spluttered out a laugh as if his maid had gone three fingers on him.
Set them on fire, yes. Well, that is a good one. One to keep on the back burner as it were... Ha! Back burner!!
I chortled and took a hearty swig of whisky, passing it round so I could light my own heron bone pipe.
Anulus gargled with a big swash of whisky and gulped it down before leading us over to a small path beside the car park. It led into the trees and several other groups were heading in.
This way gentlemen, this way to the races!
We came out into a large clearing where a smallish track had been set up. Anulus led us over to a prime spot. We had finished my whisky but fortunately, Rory had a bottle too. We set to work on it with gusto.
Anulus handed out a listing of the races and the dogs that were in each.
We all made our bets, one of the dogs in the first race, The Figged Welshman sounded like a good prospect. I handed a hundred to the man who came round to take our bets.
Rory put a hundred on a dog called Ginger Biscuit and Anulus put two hundred on Jake the Peg.
The first race was about to start. Anulus was drunk and giggling like a girl.
Here come the dogs, chaps!
A man opened a large curtain sided trailer next to the track. Out hobbled a motley collection of naked peasants who lined up at the starting positions.
I and Rory burst into a bout of hysterical laughter.
Anulus! Incredible, what a genius idea. Getting peons to be the dogs. This is bloody marvelous!
He grinned with pride.
I thought you fellows might like the idea. It's amazing what poor folk will do for a couple of pounds. Oh, except yours Boomy. He demanded an extra couple of quid because we stuck a bit of ginger root up his arse.
Ah, I nodded. The Figged Welshman...
I bloody hope he's Welsh as well then! HAHA!
I was interrupted by a bugle sounding the start of the race. It was a relatively short affair. I was pleased to see that my dog absolutely stormed around the track with big skipping strides. He made an odd hooting as he ran and occasionally clutched at his arse cheeks.
He won by a clear length. Anulus's dog came in last. He was quite put out by his dog's showing.
They never let you see them before the race, how was I to know that Jake the Peg meant that he had a wooden leg. Bloody cheating.
Rory's beard jutted out and his cheeks were flushed with indignation. I suspected the drink was bringing his indomitable lust for justice to the fore. He stormed over to the trailer and demanded to see Anulus's dog. We followed him over.
Jake the Peg came hobbling out of the trailer.
Whats all this abowt guvnor? I raced the race fair and square?
Rory brandished a fistful of twenty-pound notes.
Come, we have a business deal you may be interested in?
He passed the man guarding the trailer a fistful of twenties and gave him a nod.
We walked behind the trailer. Anulus still grumbling about losing the race.
Rory faced Jake the Peg.
How the bloody hell can you accept a contract to race if you only have one leg?
He roared at the man.
What? Fuck you mate, it's only a bit of a laugh innit?
Rory turned purple. He looked at me and Anulus.
Chaps, would you agree that Anulus's dog is lame?
We both nodded. Definitely lame. He only had one leg.
Right.
Rory pulled out a small old-fashioned pistol and pointed it at Jake the Peg and fired. The shot took him cleanly above the eye and he dropped like a stone.
There, did the bloody thing a mercy, don't you agree chaps?
Oh yes Rory, poor thing was lame. It was the best thing for it. It's glory days were behind it.
I concurred approvingly.
Rory looked down at the now still corpse of the dog. His eye caught on its wooden leg.
Boomy? Do me a favour old chap. Unscrew that bastarding leg would you? I think I might be able to make a pipe out of it.
Ha! Splendid idea Rory old fellow!
I and Anulus set about wrestling with the dog's wooden leg.
Oh yes and Boomy, Anulus?...
We both looked up.
Rory grinned,
Do remember...