Sometimes I don't realise just what a fantastic racing tipster I am. Exactly one year ago today, in an act of supreme confidence, I instructed my blog readers to back a horse named Spuradich in the 3:15 at Newbury. It couldn't lose. And sure enough, in his moment of glory, he came home... um... 18th out of 19. But hey, he wiped the floor with that 19th placed horse, and let's face it, the race was probably fixed anyway.

But the thing about tipping racehorses is that it's a lot like clairvoyance. Sometimes you receive from on high these premonitions about future events, but the images in your crystal ball are a little hazy. You think Mystic Meg will surely get the sack within weeks, but in fact it takes many months before she's removed from our TV screens. It's not an exact science. And not one in which amateurs should dabble either, otherwise you'll end up mis-reading your mother's handwriting, and confidently trying to back a horse called 'Goat of Honour' in your local betting shop. Not that I'm one to draw attention to others' mistakes.

Anyhoo, as I watched Spuradich amble home at the back of the field last September, I knew there was more to this than just a dodgy bit of tipping, so I held back on my call to the dog food factory, and looked for a deeper explanation.

And this afternoon, all became clear. Spuradich was competing once again in the very same ten furlong heritage handicap at Newbury that he ran (well, walked) in so spectacularly last year. And yes, ladies and gentlemen, you've guessed it...

He won. At odds of 14-1.

So you see, I was right all along. I got the horse right, the race right, in fact everything right. All except the year. Which is a minor detail, and easily overlooked. I think I may well be a genius.

Oh, and the wining lottery numbers are 7, 8, 25, 29, 31 and 35. But I'm not saying which week.