As the cold early March night drew in its quirky shallow breath, it was a bitterly cold and windy violet night, the old man quietly awoke from his slumber. He put on his dressing gown, went into the kitchen and as the light switch turned on, the kettle made a noise like a tug train pulling towards the sidings. He looked at his dog who had been his loyal friend throughout and the dog just put his head back down in the basket. “I’ve got my years pension on him ante post Wolfy” the dog looked up and just sighed, before with an air of resignation that defeat was looming. The old man sighed and then carefully placed a tea bag in his cup, before pouring slowly looking at the previous days newspaper. “Train Strikes” How was old Jack going to find a way to get to Cheltenham Spa? Who would look after Wolfy the dog? As he sat down to his cup of tea, he wrapped his hands around the cup, grasping whatever warmth he could, from the chipped cup, he rolled a cigarette. He turned to Wolfy the dog, and asked the all important question. “Wolfy, will he win?” The dog, stretched his legs, let out a gaping yawn and said,”Rough”