Why is it that whenever I announce my dodgy horse racing selections here, they run like overweight sloths with M.E., but if I keep quiet about the vast fortunes I've staked on moth-eaten old nags, they romp home by six lengths???

Yesterday was day one of Royal Ascot (at York, obviously), but knowing that most people's pain threshold for horse racing chat is dangerously close to zero, I resisted the temptation to discuss the form and the state of the going here (not that it usually stops me, obviously, but you can have too much of a good thing).

So I placed my bets around lunchtime, and Lisa and I headed off for a 4 mile walk around the Shotley countryside. Which had nothing to do with guilt over the chocolate mousse. By the time we got back we'd missed two horse races. And I'd won £40. We watched the next one. I won another fiver. And the last race... a £15 profit. So that's sixty quid. I should stop mentioning horse racing altogether.

But I won't. So get on Royal Prince at 14-1 in the 4:20. You know it makes sense.