A horsey laugh

One of the best and most renowned things about Ireland, North and South, is the ready access to an amusing quip. And earlier this week, I heard a corker.

My dad was walking down the main street in Coleraine and bumped into a well-known local character who, having been capped once by the Northern Ireland football team many years ago, now channels his energies into horses and the odd pint.

"Do you do a wee bet?" he asked my father, who isn't a gambler.

"I don't," replied White Snr.

"Well, I've got a tip on a great horse - born around here, trained around here - which you can pass on to anyone else you see if you want. It's a dead cert."

So, our friend gave my dad the details and the pair of them went their separate ways which, in the case of my father, was the Railway Arms pub where he told several of the regulars about the tip.

A few of them soon rushed to the bookies next door to put on a tenner and a couple stuck on £20.

The next morning, my dad picked up his newspaper and went straight to the horse racing results.

The "dead cert" had come in sixth.

He headed back up the main street shortly afterwards and, lo and beyond, bumped into our expert tipster who he stopped for a word.

"Are you trying to get me hanged?" my father demanded to know. "That horse you gave me came in sixth! I thought you said it was a great horse!"

Our friend looked at my dad and, without a hint of irony, replied:

"It was. Sure, it took five to beat it."