I've got some nice racing tales. Once went to Stratford-Upon-Avon, on me own, lost more money than I care to remember. Was walking back to the train station down a very long straight boring road, all the racing traffic following me as it hurled down with rain. One car kept pulling alongside and sort of, it seemed to me, be offering a lift. Eventually, pissed off with being wet, I just opened the door and jumped in the fucker. Cue three very surprised young people.
"Are you offering me a lift?"
"Actually we wondered if you had anything to smoke?"
I've had this all my life. Apparently I look like I smoke dope. Anyway, as it happens I did have some hash on me, they took me back to a pub owned by their mate and their mate had some acid. Spent the evening on top of the roof of a pub in Stratford, tripping (yes it stopped raining) and never made it back to London for 2 more days.
I have a similar one that happened at Fairyhouse for the Irish Grand National too...