The Life: A night at the dogs

	No wonder this place is such a favourite with Vinnie Jones, Brad Pitt, David Jason and Claudia Schiffer (I kid you not)

First up, I’ll come clean. I’ve bet on everything from a raindrop running down a coach window to cockfighting in Colombia, but I’ve never been to the dogs, let alone bet on them.

I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because for hundreds of years it was a crime for anyone in Britain – other than nobility – to own a greyhound. Maybe it’s because greyhounds run 500m in 30 seconds, so the whole show is over before you’ve put your pint down, and even then there’s the inevitable photo finish. Probably, though, it’s because of the image: old boys sucking on roll-ups and banging on about Ballymac Ball’s run in the 1950 Derby at Wimbledon. You know, all that cheeky-chappy, Andy Capp-style bollocks immortalised in Blur’s homage to Walthamstow, Parklife.

Move over Wembley

It’s Walthamstow we’re heading to tonight, to see what ‘doing the dogs’ in the 21st Century is all about. Sure, greyhound racing may have officially begun at Belle Vue, Manchester in 1926, but today the ‘Stow’ is the biggest and best track in Western Europe. It’s the canine equivalent of the new Wembley – the stadium has just benefited from a £200,000 investment. The track has been re-built and re-surfaced, the bends re-shaped, and the most technologically advanced hare system in the world has been implemented.

We head to the weighing-in room. Here, racing manager Chris Page is checking the identity of each dog (verifying its National Greyhound Racing Club passport and ear mark) and its weight (checking it’s no more than a kilo either side of its last racing poundage). Chris has been a steward and handicapper for over 23 years at the Stow. He’s also the bloke charged with giving us a guide to betting doggy style.

‘Dogs run on ability based on a grading system,’ explains Chris patiently, through a barrage of barking. ‘At Walthamstow we have the best dogs. We also have a mix of races; for example the first race tonight is a P7, which is for puppies with a grade of seven. Then it’s an open hurdle race, which anyone with a licence in England, Wales and Scotland can enter. We’ve got marathon races – 835m at Walthamstow – stayers’ races and hurdlers. But keep your eyes trained from the off, the dogs run at 35 miles an hour.’

All very interesting; but then we’re not here just for the good of our health. So what’s the best way to make a few quid?

‘Well,’ hesitates Chris, ‘there is perceived to be an advantage in the outside traps – one or six – because there’s no dog on either side, and so less chance of interference. You can bet with the Tote operated by the track, or with one of the six bookmakers in the main enclosure, or four on the popular side. Combination bets that pay dividends like forecast and trifectas are much more common here than at horseracing because of the total number of runners.

Finding fortune

‘At Walthamstow we have the best runners and trainers, which means even beginners can follow the form in the Racing Post, put as little as 10p on and have a good time. The restaurants and bars are top, which all goes to make greyhound racing the best kept secret in entertainment. But remember – as a mate of mine said to me the other day – if you want to make a small fortune out of dog racing, start with a large one!’

We head past a collection of palm trees on to the middle of the track, now illuminated and glistening in the rain, to meet Annie Aslett, Walthamstow’s marketing and promotions director. She is with Ernie Gaskin, owner/trainer of the stunning Lisnafulla Flash, who carried off the Pall Mall trophy at Oxford back in April. While Ernie poses with ‘Flashy’ under umbrellas, Annie leads us indoors to the Paddock bar to a warm, Glenfiddich welcome. The Paddock is a refurbished restaurant with cracking views of the whole stadium through enormous floor-to-ceiling windows. It serves up the best of traditional flame fare: massive steaks, big fish, vegetables if you must. There’s also an extensive wine list, and – most importantly – you don’t need to move to place a bet: Tote girls come up to take your ‘investment’ before every race. No wonder this place is such a favourite with Vinnie Jones, Brad Pitt, David Jason and Claudia Schiffer (I kid you not).

Best in show

The dogs parade past the window as we try to pick our first winner in the 19:58. All these greyhounds look lean and powerful and none seems to be sweating up – if dogs even do that. And if 19:58 seems (to a dog novice) like an odd time to have a race, consider there are 14 races in total tonight, and the whole show has to run like clockwork.

Having to act fast between mouthfuls takes a bit of getting used to. With only ten minutes between races and Tote odds appearing four minutes before the off, there’s only just enough time to look at the Racing Post and figure out a reasonable stab at a trifecta before the bell goes, the light goes down and the hare belts away. You can forget any notion of following the odds to see where the money’s going – that will just leave you with indigestion and a desire to back Trap Vacant. At least that one never loses.

After a couple of logically selected, but hopelessly losing, forecasts, we try to get an answer from anyone in the know why a 14/1 outsider could win a race. What did racing manager Chris Page say about dogs always running to form? After Race 4 the 20:23 Spring Novice Stayers), how come Hollyoak Must in trap four romped it home by a massive distance? Surely that merited some sort of a steward’s enquiry…?

Our questions go unanswered, and everybody is having too much of a good time to be bothered about winning, so we head outside to the rails. Of the six pitches, only four seem to be bothered chalking up odds, so we bowl up to Ted Murrell, who gives us a price three full minutes before the race, tapes our bet on a dictaphone and gives us a slip of paper with no information on it other than his name and a number. This is old-school bookmaking. We’ve backed Go Commando – he leads for most of the race, then tails off to come second. There’s not even a jockey to blame.

The tipping point

Scratching our heads, we head across the stadium to the cheap seats for inspiration. We find it courtesy of some young women from Plaistow on a hen night. They’re picking dogs based on whether they like the name or not, and with only a score left in our pot, we follow suit. Kinda Special seems reasonable enough, so we try to get on each way, forgetting the track rules.

‘If you want that sort of fancy bet, you’ll have to go to the Tote,’ growls a bloke in a tracksuit, taking odds on his mobile phone and chalking them up in front of us. We bung it all on.

Kinda Special at 3/1 is right in there with the leaders – all six of them – round the track, until the race finishes in a blur of fur. It’s a photo finish. The announcer calls the winner. Someone wins by a nose, but it’s not our dog.

Strangely, though, it no longer seems to matter. We’ve troughed steaks, downed wine, and rushed around all evening on about £60. We’ve seen beyond the stereotypical nonsense and begun to understand its enduring appeal. Most importantly, perhaps, we learned a basic truth about the dogs – it’s not the place to make a million – but then it’s not likely to be the place where you lose your shirt, either.

‘The best kept secret in entertainment?’ Definitely.