The turf: bad-mane day for Tropics

At the degenerative stage of a dinner party recently I heard related with perfect timing the tale of the gent who saw a sign in the window of his local newsagent/tobacconist/sweet shop offering ‘Condoms personally fitted’. Finding a pretty blonde behind the counter when he entered, he inquired, ‘Do you really have the service you are advertising in your window?’ ‘Oh, yes, sir.’ ‘And who does the fitting?’ ‘I do, sir.’ ‘Well, in that case, young lady, would you mind washing your hands, because all I want is half a pound of liquorice allsorts.’

Racing, too, is all about expectations, and about timing, and having recently for this column visited the yards of two of Britain’s friendliest trainers, Henry Candy and Dean Ivory, I have been taking a special interest in their horses. At Newmarket, on Cambridgeshire day, I fancied the chance of Henry’s Code of Honor in the Betfred Cambridgeshire.