Pith. And pictures.

And back to normal we go, the old routine swinging out on a Monday dawning with skies as black as pitch. Up to HorseBack, back to the computer, 916 words of book, do Red, walk the dog, breakfast with the Mother and Stepfather. The wild highs and lows of the Royal Meeting recede, and I must remember that I am a grown-up.

You’ve had to read far too many words in the last few days, so today there are some soothing pictures instead. Although, I would like to express special thanks to the Dear Reader who outed himself as a male and a racing journalist (both are welcomed keenly on these pages) and who paid me possibly the best compliment I’ve ever had. He said that the Ascot reports reminded him a little of Audax. J Oaksey was an old friend of my father’s, from schooldays, and he wrote emotional, fluent reports of great races, sometimes even from the very saddle, where he had a bird’s eye view. People remember them forty years on.

No one could have said a kinder thing, or a more reassuring one, since I generally suffer from mild angst when I bang on about the horses. I seem unable to help myself, but it is quite a lot for you to wade through. Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you to that anonymous reader, who made my exhausted heart swell with pride.

This week, my darlings, you shall have pith. Or at least, that is the plan.

 

Here is some of what I saw last week, when I tore my eyes from the television set and walked outside in the good Scottish air:

And as I was going through the pictures files today, I found these, which made me both happy and sad, equally:

I’m entirely biased. But I’m not sure there was ever someone quite as beautiful as that Pigeon.