NICHOLAS GODFREY

Weblog:  It's a funny old world

Up for the cup - and you're going home in an equine ambulance

I DON'T know why I decided to wear that scarf. Look, it's nice enough but back in the day you would never have caught me sporting the old light green and yellow in public.

It was too much of a giveaway, but we're all a bit older now, what with the kids and all.

Funny how we used to laugh at all those ‘scarfers' - anorak types, saving up their racecards and attaching their badges to their binoculars. Idiots. Never up for any bother and always attract the attention of the Old Bill on racedays. No use to the Kauto firm when it kicked off.

Not at the track, though. No, the real action used to happen elsewhere, all of us casually dressed, nothing to distinguish anybody. Maybe at the main rail station or on the tube, often arranged earlier via text. Happy days.

Doesn't happen much anymore - and I look a right pillock in this scarf. Tried to wear it with like those city boys or that Peter Thomas bloke that writes in the Post with a bit of a sideknot, but it always ends up dangling straight down the middle, more Albert Steptoe than Georgio Armani. Suits me.

Mind you, I do feel a bit sorry for those Man Utd boys who are wearing those yellow-and-green scarves to protest against their American owners - they want to be careful. Wear that in the wrong company and it's still be asking for trouble.

And these days some of those younger boys are properly tooled up as well. Horseshoes in their hands, some of them. That Denman mob reckon that's a fair fight. No class, any of them.

Still, most of our boys aren't interested in anything tasty now, not since they all started going to raves and taking those inflatable carrots to the track.

All you get these days is just a bit of good-natured banter and singing, but there's always more to it with those boys in dark green. We'll start it off: "One horse in Ditcheat, there's only one horse in Ditcheat."

They'll come back: "I'd rather be a Paddy than a Frog."

You know, harmless stuff. Mind you, the old enmities can run a bit deep at times. Their face Findlay is still mouthing off all the time, Tank-this, and Tank-that, giving it the big one about their new star signing McCoy. Bit quieter after Newbury, wasn't he?

This time it's different, though, this one matters.

I could see it going off as soon as I got to Paddington. They were all there, waiting for us. You could hear it as soon as you left the tube for the concourse: "Que sera sera, whatever will be, will be, we're going to Prestbury"; "Paulie Nicholls' green-and-white army."

Always causes a bit of confusion, that one. We counter, as usual, with "Paulie Nicholls' yellow-and-green army," but it's just a bit of verbal sparring, no edge.

More from the Denman crew, all of Barber's old mob. "Tractor boys we are here, wo-on, wo-oh."

There's only one answer. "Point-to-point, w**k w**k w**k, point-to-point, w**k, w**k, w**k." Always raises a laugh.

And, for good measure: "We've got Ruby Walsh, say we've got Ruby Walsh."

"You're going home in an equine ambulance," comes the reply.

"Down with the Pendil, you're going down with the Pendil," we shout.

But then they just can't stop themselves. No class, like I said. You know the type, talk about 2008 like a Rangers fan spouting off about 1690 and the Battle of the Boyne.

They know we're miles better than them so they have to resort to insults. That oik Findlay starts it off, as usual, beginning the count-up with a whisper. "One-two-three," he goes. "Four-five-six."

Louder now. Even the old boys are angry. We just wanted a quiet day-out, bit of fun, but this is bang out of order. They're all joining in now, even the respectable-looking blokes in that dark green scarf with the cheques on the end, just like one of those old 2 Tone record sleeves back in the early 80s. Surprised they haven't got Walt Jabsco doing his stick-dancing on there, the ponces.

They are still doing the count. "Seven-eight-nine" - might not mean much to anybody else, but we know what they mean. Lengths. The number of lengths Denman fluked it a couple of years ago. "TEN! ELEVEN! TWELVE!!" they scream, just offensive.

Look, we can all have a laugh but they've overstepped the mark. Mark my words, back in the old days, before I got this scarf, I'd have been straight over there, having a bit.

Old Clive doesn't like it - he always tells usnot to sink to their level - so let's just treat them with the disdain they deserve, the muppets.

No matter, though. What goes around comes around, and they'll be getting theirs soon enough. Just wait until we get to the Gold Cup.