The early bird gets the big price, red & blue balloons orb the doors, bowls of peanuts & crisps on the Quickslip Desk, jockeys wait to go over the top of Beecher's Brook in luminescent stripes like danger needs a dusting of hundreds & thousands - well that's why we're watching - outside two middleaged men seriously playfight as their young sons watch trying not to catch the eyes of the other. I push the pram past an unmanned buggy which has been left next to a GOLDSKIP of used bricks. Coming back much later after the poetry reading in Covent Garden - a past midnight of Spring ice - the driver of the Transit cab could be one of the men from today's playfight. He says : cheer up, it might never happen. He pleasantly talks past me like I am the clothes in his wardrobe. I say : it already has, I've spent all my money on the National & I'm not even drunk. He asks how I failed to pick the winner, though he hasn't told his wife about his winnings ye...
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