Easter Racing? Not today thank you; I'm training for Mars.

No Tips for today because it is Good Friday, and I am old-fashioned enough to believe you have to keep at least two days free from the demands of bookies. Once, when He was born, and once, when He died, would seem the scant minimum; sadly, that is no longer the case.

As such, Easter is always a good time to consider new beginnings. Should I perhaps revisit my childhood vocational callings to the priesthood? Should I perhaps continue my newly awakened interest in building the perfect horse-race ratings machine? Should I refocus my efforts on recruiting former special forces pensioners and turning them into the Boyds Own Punishment Squad? (Death on a Zimmer! was one suggested tagline from Bob, the only recruit so far, who sadly passed away choking on a caperberry in a Caesar Salad. Shoot the Chef, he begged me. … capers in a ferkin Caes’ … and then he was gone.)

This dangerous mood of introspection was lightened enormously by the arrival of a brace of beautiful women - a mother-and-daughter combo - who insisted we step out immediately to The Queen Arms in East Garston for supper. Jolly company, decent food and strangely warm, as we sat in the back garden room, which is heated by ceramic wall heaters. Having discussed Artemis, which launch had moved them all, the girls opined that sitting under these heaters was potentially hazardous to one’s health and that one’s skin might dry out or worse, crisp up! Perhaps, one suggested, during the second bottle of Viognier after her Guinness, this was how NASA trained for Mars. Sitting under Ceramic heaters frying one’s skin whilst getting quietly tontoed on plonk. It’s moments like that when one wonders whether the whole designated driver thing is working.