A south London love letter written on a betting slip

You've been in the Grosvenor Racing betting shop. Can't put your finger on it? It's just like any other betting shop, which is why – whether your local is a William Hill or a Betfred, Coral or Paddy Power – as soon as you push open the door you'll feel at home.

There's Rose behind the counter, former Betting Shop Manageress of the Year, been in the game as long as Frankie Dettori and just as good at her job, a benevolent matriarch of an amiably dysfunctional family. Beside her, Kelly the pretty cashier is taking bets and giving out winnings, taking the chat and giving it back with interest, a sharp edge on a softer heart.

Ajay's another as quick with the lip as he is with a betting slip, as wideboy as he is tall, so much energy about him that you might wonder why he isn't putting it to better use. He's deep in conversation with Tom, who fancies himself as a pro punter, reckons he knows more angles than Pythagoras, looks with a slightly patronising air on the likes of Yankee Bob, whose nickname is occupational rather than geographical with his daily penchant for six doubles, four trebles and a four-timer drawing frequent disdain from win-single warrior Tom.