Greyhound for Breakfast

Cute Chick!

There used to be this talkative old lady with a polite English accent who roamed the betting shops of Glasgow being avoided by everybody. Whenever she appeared the heavily backed favourite was just about to get beat by a big outsider. And she would always cry out in a surprised way about how she managed to choose it, before going to collect her dough at the pay-out window. And when asked for her nom-de-plume she spoke loudly and clearly: Cute Chick!

It made the punters’ blood run cold.