Last night I broke cover in order to buy some milk. For the first time in forty days and forty nights, I noted that Sainsburys in Kelso had a stock of loo rolls. Two whole pallets full.

Like Noah’s dove, heralding the end of the flood, I returned home with a four-pack in my beak…

The secret development of new products takes place behind closed doors. Peace talks, war planning and matters of national security take place behind closed doors. My more exciting friends tell me that romantic liaisons frequently take place in the open air – but that they also occur (more regularly) behind closed doors.

Given that so many exciting things already happen behind closed doors, why not horseracing too?

My favourite story about Berwick-upon-Tweed revolves around the fact that some people believe the town has been at war with Russia for more than 150 years. So I was alarmed, but not totally surprised, this week when I heard that an attempt had been made to blow up the train station: the opening salvo of any invasion is to knock out the key transport links…

I don’t wear a watch, preferring instead to allow my body-clock to perceive time through the motion of the Earth as it orbits the Sun. It’s a primeval instinct that all of us were born with, but few people depend upon.

No one, who knows me well, is terribly surprised when I turn up late almost everywhere that I go…

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…