The Torygraph and the Philologist's dissent

Punchestown Day 3

Around the country at this morning’s breakfast tables, all that could be heard was the sounds of forehead slapping, of collapsing stout parties, of hurrumphs of such volume that Labradors bolted for the boot room and Cockers headed for a warm Aga.

Not for the first time this month, The Torygraph had made another typo - but this was manifestly the worst possible error