Our man at the track with his thoughts on another dramatic day at Cheltenham which just about had it all.
At last, the rain arrives.
I discover on my final morning in my Cheltenham hotel that the area where breakfast is served has unrivalled views of the third tee on the nearby golf course.
The three magic words are on the wall too. Self Service Buffet. So I do. And watch a man in a misjudged t-shirt badly slice his six iron at the pin 130 yards away. He swears loudly and a lady eating overnight oats two tables away tuts equally as loudly.
You wouldn’t get that in racing, I tell myself.
But you get about everything else.
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