Regular readers will know this already, but if you’ve clicked on the Border Post in the hope of profiting from the insightful tipping information, you’ve probably missed the point…

The pleasure derived from giving the perfect gift can be so good that it’s almost selfish: the warm glow as you witness the recipient’s heart swell in appreciation of something good.

Conversely, the act of searching for the perfect gift can be hell…

On Sunday 29th June, 2009, the Cambridge physicist Stephen Hawking sat alone in his wheelchair at Gonville & Caius College, the venue he’d chosen to host his cocktail party for time travellers. To ensure that only real time travellers turned up, he didn’t invite them until at a later date – a strategy which he suggested, when none showed, that time travel probably isn’t possible…

Unlike Geoff Loader I haven’t yet visited every racecourse in Britain, but I’m looking forward to doing so. Geoff, who completed a full house when attending the last meeting at Kelso was presented with a branded beanie-hat for his trouble and, to cheers from an appreciative crowd, immediately declared that Kelso Racecourse was the best of the lot…

The sky in the Scottish Borders is bigger than in other places. Much bigger than in the south of England, for example, where tree shrouded lanes obscure the view; wider than in the Lake District where steep craggy hills hem the horizon, and higher than in the Highlands where tall mountains pierce the blue ceiling.

I’ve always known that I wasn’t a good person, but I didn’t quite realise the extent of my badness until I saw the latest Bond movie…

While almost ten million people tuned in to enjoy the return of The Great British Bake Off on Channel 4 last month, here at Kelso the competition never went away.

From Gill’s shortbread, to Trish’s cakes and Joanna’s scones, the competition has been fierce all year long…

Despite an inclination to respect the Auld Alliance between Scotland and France, my first instinct when asked by the BHA whether we could change the time of our races on Sunday to accommodate the Arc De Triomphe, was to shout “Oh Prenez un grip! It’s only a Flat race.”

Face painting wasn’t really a thing when I was a child. There were plenty of occasions when our faces ended up being covered in paint, but that was just a by-product of ordinary painting – the sort where the picture was supposed to take shape on a large sheet of paper.

But that doesn’t mean that race-meetings were devoid of children’s entertainment…

As the mares rolled up the finishing straight, bathed in the twilight rays of Kelso’s first fixture of the season, a joyous crowd of cheering faces glowed amber.

Having waited eighteen months for an opportunity to attend the races, the spectators weren’t for leaving early – which is a good job because a mid-programme hiccup meant that the Racing TV Mares National Hunt Flat Race was delayed by more than 20 minutes, by when the brightest parts of the track were those illuminated by the headlights of the ambulance.