Against the odds:Table-thumping trade unionism wasn't Vinny Fitzpatrick's gig. He became a member of the National Bus and Rail Workers' Union because he had to when he joined CIÉ 30 years ago. His subs had been docked from his weekly wages since.
He had never been an activist, never stood for election, and never attended any union conference. Yet, there he was, this chill Sunday morning, huddled beside a glowing brazier for warmth and showing solidarity with his fellow workers at Harristown Garage.
The bus strike, which had driven a wrecking ball through the daily lives of the plain people of northwest Dublin, was not Vinny's idea of fun. He was one of those drivers who took pride in providing a service to the community. Listening on the radio to tales of folk who had been unable to get their kids to school had made Vinny squirm.
As he paraded silently in the half-light outside the garage gates, Vinny was looking ahead to the final day's action at the Cheltenham Open meeting.
He had made himself available for the graveyard shift on the basis that he could be back home in Clontarf for racing.
If the first two days were anything to go by, Vinny was in for another emotional roller-coaster afternoon. For him, Friday had been the highlight when Spotthedifference, at 14 years of age, had won for the seventh time at Prestbury Park.
Vinny had gasped when "Spot" collapsed after the winning post and screens were erected but thankfully the old warrior was soon back on his hooves. That Vinny had a score on at 5 to 2 on the old boy heightened his interest. As he shuffled along the cold Fingal tarmac, Vinny thought about the earlier race in which Katie Walsh, sister of Ruby and daughter of Ted, had won on Hordago.
Horsemanship, or should that be horsewomanship, gallops through the Walsh genes, thought Vinny as he reflected on Katie's achievement. Not many women, after all, took on the men on a level playing field and emerged triumphant.
Concentrating, Vinny tried to think of other sports where the fair sex was treated as an equal. There weren't many.
Poker had its share of sexy sirens; certainly the ones who played Texas Hold 'Em on Sky nightly caught Vinny's attention. "The Queen of Tarts" from Basildon, in Essex, was a corker he secretly fancied.
Racking his brains, the only other sport Vinny could come up with where the bar was dead level was show jumping - Vinny recalled Jessica Kürten chasing gold in the Athens Olympics in 2004 only to be usurped by Cian O'Connor.
Thinking back to his childhood, Vinny remembered Marion Mould, a looker too like Kürten, on Stroller, competing against Mr Softee himself, David Broome, in the Horse of the Year Show at Wembley.
As he continued his silent march, Vinny whistled the dinky BBC theme music to himself. Diddle dee, diddle dee; diddle, diddle, diddle dee . . .
He had looked it up once, many years ago. It was called Ein Musikalischer Spass (A Musical Joke) and had been written by one Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
He didn't follow show jumping much these days. There was so much sport on the box like the racing, football and golf - his three specialities - that the minority stuff didn't get a look in.
Looking about him, Vinny noticed how Dublin Bus remained a male-dominated work force. There were Poles, Nigerians and Brazilians aplenty at the wheel but still not many women.
It was different in other walks of life. You couldn't pick up a newspaper without noticing how many women journalists there were.
A flick to the business pages confirmed women were making waves in the blue-chip worlds of finance and IT.
Even Boru Betting, his local betting shop, was run under the twinkling eye of Angie, with help from two chirpy counter girls, Karen and Siobhán.
As the wheels of change turned slowly in Dublin Bus, what was needed, thought Vinny, was for a squadron of Katie Walshes, or even Marion Moulds, to shake things up. It might even increase his prospects of meeting someone who shared his interests; supping pints, placing bets, dealing cards and enjoying late-night takeaways. Someone like Angie perhaps . . .
Who was he kidding? As he counted down the moments to knocking off, Vinny felt a little lonely. Not for the first time, he likened himself to TS Eliot's The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock.
I grow old, I grow old; I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each
I do not think that they will sing to me.
Bets of the week
• 1pt each-way Beef Or Salmon in Betfair Chase (16/1 Boylesports)
• 2pts draw Portugal v Finland (7/2 general)
Vinny's Bismarck
• 1pt Lay England to beat Croatia (1.6/1 Betfair, Liability 1pt)
