DAY 271: Racing stuff

29 May

WHEN Tiger told me about the Turkish pharmacy with fat leeches in jars sitting in the window, I knew I had to buy some and race them. I’ve already had one on me during the Day of a Thousand Fucks, so racing them was the next most obvious thing to do.

The pharmacy, in North London, is stacked with curious supplements and extracts – including snail extract – but I’m hopping from one foot to the other waiting for the woman to get off the phone so that I can buy my leeches. The longer she’s on the phone, the more I’m unsure as to how I’m going to phrase it.

As it turns out, the leeches are not for sale. Instead, the chemist slaps them on whatever part of your body is ailing – for fifty quid a leech – just like in the olden days. The chemist says they usually set the leeches free afterwards to avoid cross-contamination, but that some of the locals are in uproar about this, so there is going to be a meeting on Tuesday to discuss whether the leeches should be freed or killed in alcohol.

Anyway, the long and short of it is I can’t have them, so I have to resort to a plan b. This strikes me a few days later at the seaside, as the family set out to go crab fishing. Bait worms would make good stand-in leeches – in fact better, as they’re less likely to stick to your fingers as you set them on the racetrack.

I’m thwarted once again, as it turns out we’re using bacon for bait, which is rubbish at racing. And so, plan c: racing crabs.

I mark out a track and set two tiddlers down, drawing a crowd of young onlookers who are totally jealous that they didn’t think of this. There’s a lot of screaming and carrying on, and one crab definitely wins, but they’d set off before I could name them or put money down. Void!

I'm better at crab racing than Photoshop.

The little buggers kept going sideways.

Keeper? Yes, with practise could race anything.

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