Oh, for God's sake... who is the man calling at Tipperary? I know it's not Dessie 'Comatose' Scahill, so perhaps it's Mr O'Hehir? "O'MUIRAHUIRTIG - sorry, I know I've spelled him incorrectly! - is pulling up at the back... " two fences later... "O'M is in sixth... " (that'll be him in red colours, then?) ... a few yards before the winning line... "and O'M is second... " - ah, that'll be him in the yellow, will it?
That's a straight 10 on the Twit-o-Meter, closely followed by the total cock-up RUK, unused to anything but endless Flat or NH races, has made of an all-Arabian meeting at Newbury and harness-racing from Musselbugs. "Oh, I didn't know they used one of those motor things to start them" - pearls of wisdom from an astounded Lydia Hislop, a top racing journo (I'm told), while, confused by a false start, the cameras remove to Newbury, where, true to the tenets of Arab racing, they're ten minutes late, so that we can enjoy the full benefit of seeing horses to post, a loose horse, the stalls being locked into place, Emma Owen in a dress ("You're clearly not riding today... " from Nick Luck. No shit, Sherlock!), more views of the stalls, even more views of the stalls - and bugger-all of the harness race, which I was very much looking forward to in lieu of more half-schooled nags fumbling their way over hurdles elsewhere. As it is, having a race caller randomly inventing runners in Ireland is far more interesting.