It's me with the Afghans!


If only Prince Harry could say the same.

If I look slightly startled, it's because we'd been standing there for ages, looking to the left for signs of dog hair flapping in the breeze, with Lisa poised to take my photo the moment anything more hairy than me hoved into view, only to realise at the last moment that the Afghans were approaching from the right, and were, in fact, right behind us. The way they creep up on you, it's no wonder Harry wasn't safe.

Anyhoo, the 2008 Mother's Day Afghan Trophy was a total triumph. Here they are flashing past me at speeds of up to 3mph...


That's Dougal from The Magic Roundabout overtaking Spit the Dog at the first bend. They'd both lost their jockeys at that point.

Well ok, it's actually four-year-old Morse leading the eventual winner, India. But enough about them. Here's what the race card said about hound number 1:


Ok, I'll give you three guesses what happened to Zak. Yes, that's right, he lost interest halfway round, hopped over the fence, and started frolicking about on the grass in the middle of the track, waiting for someone to throw him a stick. Not quite the model of consistency we were led to believe. Personally I blame Lisa. Three seconds earlier she'd said "He's so far behind, he might as well give up", so he obviously heard her and threw in the towel.

You have to admire his tactics though. Having sat out the contest on the other side of the stadium, acting like he was down the park on a Sunday afternoon, the race eventually finished and the rabbit came back around to where Zak was standing. At which point he jumped on it. I see that as a moral victory. The judges saw it as more of a disqualification. It's all a matter of opinion.

Anyhoo, yesterday wasn't just Mother's Day, it was also the ninth birthday of Lisa's eldest nephew, so with the prospect of some free cake on offer, we naturally dropped in on the birthday boy for an hour. He seemed quite pleased with our gift of Mario & Sonic at the Olympic Games, though having seen the cake his mother had made for him, anything would have seemed like a step up. I'm not saying it tasted bad, but when the only two cake tins you own are of differing sizes, it's hard to make a Victoria Sandwich that doesn't look like a hat. Imagine a cross between a Jaffa Cake and a cow pat. Add to that the fact that her husband was suffering from food poisoning, and it's no wonder I was alone in accepting a slice.