My name is Robin, an Essex boy at heart, and as things go, I live a good life now on and off in the west of Ireland in a beautiful picturesque place called the Galway bay.
There are some people who would have called me and my mates gangsters. Sure we got up to mischief, but it just seemed the right thing to do at the time. We didn’t like doing what we did and wanted to get out as soon as we had made enough money. We got into this game by accident in some ways, but then we stayed that far under the radar; we went deeper than a nuclear submarine. Definitely not our interpretation of gangsters. We didn’t go around carrying guns, threatening or beating up people, just normal run-of-the-mill guys just trying to earn a few bob and lived by the motto “Don’t pull, don’t push and be lucky.”
But now having given up all my wild ways, if you would like to call it that, sold some of my share in the business I have and earned enough money just to spend my time doing the things I love in life—a bit of painting, fishing, part-time teaching, and having the odd pint of Guinness, or as they call it here porter.
For the past twenty-odd years life just can’t get better. So with this in mind, it gives me time to reflect on one particular day twenty-odd years ago in a bookies in Romford, Essex.