In 1980 I got my first Saturday job in my uncle’s bookmaker’s shop. I took down telephone bets, marked up race cards, made the tea and emptied the overflowing ashtrays.
Then I started helping on the tills and got to know the eccentric regulars and the little old ladies with their 10p yankees and accumulators.
But I often saw my uncle having a quiet word with punters trying to place bigger bets than usual, or turning away customers who were clearly three sheets to the wind.
