We had been through so much together. Racing not just on the domestic scene but also in Melbourne, Mauritius and Maisons-Lafitte. Together over 15 years we had been bird-watching in Venezuela, Costa Rica and the Gambia, Madagascar and the Isle of Mull. But at Newmarket last Saturday somebody relieved me of my long-cherished Zeiss binoculars. Bombed out perhaps by too many 18-hour days lately in the television job, I either left them on the roof of the car as I retrieved an umbrella from the boot or I put them down when writing out a bet. Either way, somebody chose to help themselves.
One should not become attached to inanimate objects but somehow I grieve for those bins as well as nursing a sense of grievance at a dishonest world. A low-key wet Saturday at Newmarket somehow seemed the wrong setting to have said goodbye to what had become old friends.
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