I’m giving up. No not betting on racehorses, or even giving dubious tips – I’m giving up crisps… And drinking alcohol (but only at home – because it’s boring to go out with friends and watch them laugh at things that are only funny after you’ve had a pint).

Today being Valentines Day, it seemed an appropriate time to report that there are some gorgeous birds at Kelso Racecourse. But before male readers get any ideas about rushing down to the track, I should point out that this is not a dating hotspot. The twig-legged beauties at the racecourse are strictly monogamous.

And despite a reputation for dining on aphrodisiac oysters, these particular love-birds are more partial to eating worms…

There’s nothing quite like bunking off work to see some really good horseracing: the pleasure of studying horseflesh instead of spreadsheets; applying the principles of risk management to betting instead of the safety of your co-workers.

So there I was, wishing that I was dead and feeling sorry for myself – hoping to be scooped up by a pair of beautiful angels and lifted towards heaven – which might have been a shade optimistic given my life’s work in racing…

Years of careful vigilance and strict pest control have kept the track at Kelso Racecourse free from haggis, although they are easy enough to find pretty much everywhere else at this time of year…

I looked into the beautiful dark eyes of the racehorse owners standing in the parade ring and I knew that I’d got it badly wrong. It wasn’t just their horse which was stunningly turned out, everyone was looking at them too – with their sleek shiny hair and cleverly coordinated accessories…

When Colin and Ruth McGrath bought the Queens Head Hotel in Kelso, in 2003, they sponsored a race at the May meeting to announce their new venture to the World.

Like many race sponsors, they presented mementoes to the winning owner (Guy Stevenson), the winning trainer (Mary Reveley) and the winning jockey (Paddy Aspell). But they didn’t want the winning horse to feel left out, so they also gave a sack of carrots to Minster Missile who’d done all the hard work by staying on in the final furlong to beat the Len Lungo trained L’Oiseau by nearly two lengths…

We’re all going to lose a few pounds in 2020. It’s a simple statement – I’m just not sure whether it’s a resolution or a prediction and whether that’s pounds in weight or pounds, shillings and pence…

I am so very lucky. I nearly didn’t check my ‘junk e-mail’ folder over Christmas. And if I hadn’t, I’d never have known that the Federal Government of Nigeria had allocated me a compensation payment of 5.5 million dollars…

Dear Father Christmas, this year I have been very good. Or quite good… sort of. It depends whether you hold racecourse managers to the same moral standard as bishops or something more akin to American presidents, in which case almost anything goes…