It's August 1983 and I'm home in Hull for the summer after the second year of my Law degree at Warwick university.
I'm into my third year doing a summer job for Habbershaws bookmakers, providing holiday cover as cashier, boardman and bet settler at their 14 shops in the City and surrounding suburbs.
By now, I'm well versed with the scene and quite a Hull betting scene it is too.
There are a number of independent bookies, all offering unique early morning prices.
There are also notorious punters too - like the (surely losing) punter who I think did cash-in-hand handyman jobs around the town and would go in a betting shop and have a monkey or even a grand straight forecast the fav to beat the second fav in small-field pattern races where they bet something like 4/7, 7/4, 14/1 bar or Evens, 2/1, 10/1 bar - you get the picture and maybe more about him another day.
Ditto the "pro" or "semi pro" punters like Maths teacher Chris Kelly who would lump on shorties in "Dead Eight" bad each-way races or Eddie Gilman who generously tipped counter staff after wins, no doubt in the hope they wouldn't even ring his bets through to head office.
And there was Nigel Culbert, maybe ten years older than me, a shop manager for the Art Wells/Rossy Brothers chain, sharp as a knife, a really shrewd punter, he knew all of the above and I learned plenty off him about not only how to win but how to keep it and improve your life.
I've stories about all these people for another day too.
But my focus here is on Jack Ferens.
Jack was notorious, so many stories I heard from so many on the scene, and in later life Jack burst onto the racing media scene by basically calculating and publishing the Official ratings to exploit the arcane three-week entry system and rating to the nearest 5lb to his advantage.
Jack would price up just about anything and his shop near the City Centre was an Alladin's Cave of offers written on the wall every day of the week, a bit like specials in a Chinese takeaway or Kebab House.
Anyway, it's the Monday morning and the Arlington Million was on the Sunday night.
I'd noticed UK horses, while hardly ever winning, going off much bigger on the USA pari-mutuel, so I'd had a few quid on Tolomeo.
I didn't even know the result and I decided to go into Nigel's shop (by now he'd set up on his own) to find out and have a catch-up chat.
I didn't even get to ask the question.
The instant I walked through the door Nigel came out from the behind the counter towards me in excitement.
"Did you have a bet on that Arlington Million last night? Because one of YOUR (he knew I rated Tolomeo) horses won it and the bookies are going mental about it."
"Yeah, I bet Tolomeo," I said.
"Tell me you left it at SP!" Nigel almost shouted.
"I got the slip out and showed him: "Tolomeo @ pari-mutuel."
"Yeah you're in, it was 6/1 with the books but started monster odds out there," he said.
He wasn't wrong.
I went to Jack's shop and got paid out at 38/1 - I couldn't believe it, I was flush for months on the back of that.
But there's a post script to this.
Many many years later, after Jack had died, having long since sold his shop and got out of the game, for the first time ever I saw the result in newsprint.
I looked excitedly to see the dividend I'd been paid out at.
And there it was was $39 - but to a $2 unit stake!
It was never 38/1, it was 18.5/1, still a cracking price, but not the colossal return many UK bookies paid out at.
True story.