Against the odds: It was true what they said about the deep-fried onion rings from the Capri on Clontarf Road, thought Vinny Fitzpatrick, as he tottered home from Foley's on Sunday night. They were absolutely gorgeous.

The batter was crispy, yet not so obvious as to disguise the sharp taste of the onions, and they were the perfect companion for the thick, reheated, chips.

As he sucked the salt and grease from his fingertips before dipping them hungrily back into the bag, brown-stained with vinegar, Vinny felt a glow of contentment, both in his stomach and in his wallet - a rare-enough double, he reflected.

Through watery eyes, he gazed out toward the links at Dollymount, where he'd never managed to finish a round of golf with the same ball he'd teed up on the first hole. Once, he had made it to the 18th with an unchanged Dunlop 65 only to plop it into the drain bordering the green. He'd spent 15 fruitless minutes fishing for it.

As he reminisced, Vinny was startled to notice the fine clubhouse at Royal Dublin was actually moving. "Jeepers, Burnham Wood is marching to Dunsinane all over again," he muttered to himself.

He blinked furiously before allowing himself a chuckle. It was a ferry nudging out of Dublin Port that had caused the optical illusion as it passed directly behind the roof of the clubhouse.

As he continued home, trundling past the bus garage, Vinny reflected on a fine betting weekend, excepting the rugby on Saturday where France had allowed Ireland get a lot closer than they should, thus ruining Vinny's handicap wager.

He'd held court in Boru Betting that afternoon, where he kept reminding the wizened regulars of Ruby Walsh's outstanding Saturday record for trainer Paul Nicholls. Sure enough, Ruby won the first three races at Newbury (4/1, 7/2 and 7/4) and followed up with three seconds; only once was he out of the money.

Vinny backed Walsh in all seven races and allowed himself a contented sigh as he filled his pockets. Each time he sidled up for his winnings, he had winked knowingly at Angie, the vivacious assistant manager behind the counter.

She was Vinny's secret date for Valentine's and if Vinny could have pushed his chest out any farther he would have. He was simply bursting to tell people about it.

He was still aglow the following evening as he fumbled for the key to his mid-terrace artisan dwelling. He was also a little unsteady on the legs - he'd popped in to Foley's to watch Chelsea and Liverpool after completing his duties on the number 31 to Howth and stayed till closing time.

"Mind you don't topple over, Vinny."

It was Macker, half-hidden behind a lamp-post a few yards away, the glowing tip of a cigarette giving him away. With the lights from the bus garage bathing Macker in a greyish hue, Vinny thought he looked like a slimmer version of Harry Lime in The Third Man.

"I fancy a quick cuppa between fares, and you look like you need one," said Macker as he took the keys from Vinny and opened the door. Minutes later, the old friends sat opposite one another, two cracked mugs of steaming tea in front of them - Vinny had also rustled up a couple of packets of hula hoops.

"Well, Vinny, spit it out. What's Plan B for Valentine's with Angie?" said Macker.

Vinny drew breath and puffed his cheeks before informing Macker of his revised romantic blueprint for tomorrow night in the Grand Hotel in Malahide; the champagne, chocolates, flowers, candlelit dinner, the luxury suite, the Racing Post in bed the next morning.

"Whoa," interrupted Macker. "Do you mind telling me, Vinny, at what point you are going to tell Angie to pack her toothbrush and an overnight bag? And how do you think she would react to the notion of spending a night under the sheets with you?

"As far as she's concerned, she's going out for dinner, nothing more; nothing less. You can't go off gallivanting like a gigolo in heat. Get a grip, man."

Vinny sipped his scalding tea and shoved a handful of hula hoops into his mouth. Macker was right, of course. He hadn't thought this through at all. What would Angie think of him? A lecherous layabout with a liking for porter, most probably.

He'd overclubbed as usual. Instead of playing safe and laying up short of the green, he'd gone for the long carry only to slash wildly out of bounds. And that was what Angie was to him - out of bounds. She always would be. She wasn't going to entertain stepping out with one of life's serial underachievers.

Noisily, he munched a couple of hula hoops. The room was spinning and he was beginning to wallow in self-pity when Macker spoke again.

"Vinny, cancel the room and you can still pull this off. The champers, the chocs, all the little extras, they're good. The restaurant in the Grand is first-class. Book a taxi to pick you up at eight, swing around to Angie's and you'll be in Malahide by half-past, time for a gin and tonic - no pints, mind - in the bar before dinner.

"Then, get another a taxi home and leave it at that. No funny business. Angie's a lady and you have to treat her like one."

With that, Macker knocked back the dregs of his cup and stood up to go.

"Vinny, the ball's in your court. Don't blow it."

Vinny polished off the last of the hula hoops, burped, and stumbled into his cot. The day of reckoning was nigh.

Bets of the week

• 2pts Ireland to win the Triple Crown (11/2 Stan James)

• 1pt e.w. Fernando Alonso to win F1 World Drivers' Title (8/1 Coral)

Vinny's Bismarck

• 1pt Lay Tottenham to win Uefa Cup (8/1 Paddy Power, Liability 8pts)