Victor Chandler: 'I was petrified - that was the scariest time I've ever had'

In southern Spain, wildfires are crackling across the mountainsides, fighting a running battle with torrential rain in a beleaguered outpost of frightened expats. Down the road in Gibraltar, meanwhile, Victor Chandler is as cool as a cucumber – at least as cool as a cucumber can realistically expect to remain in 40 degrees of stifling Iberian heat.

He's no doubt relieved the inferno fizzled out little more than a dozen miles from his front door, but he wouldn't be Victor Chandler if he betrayed too much trepidation in the face of impending doom. After all, he's stood up at the Cheltenham Festival and gone toe to toe with the biggest hitters in British racing, facing down the enemy without so much as batting an eyelid, so an advancing conflagration will have to do rather better if it wants to ruffle his feathers.

In a crisp, pale blue shirt, unbuttoned to reveal an appropriate expanse of chest hair, 'VC' seems content with the way semi-retirement is treating him. If a working lifetime of pitched battles in the ring and perilous raids on some of the world's most hotly contested betting territories has taken its toll, then there's precious little sign of it as the 70-year-old strolls easily down memory lane, taking in the brutal days of his grandfather's battles with London's gangland, to his own brushes with the Chinese Triads and the French government.