I've arrived....

nice 1 g2d

hope you got fat wallet

gl

Thank you Cap'n. May all of your bets be winning ones and all ov your losers be dreams..

I come wiv a late rattle on the chebs, Mr Crisp..

Have a great time G2D

I'm wishing my life away until tomorrow afternoon.

Hello M_D and thanks for your message last night. It was looking for a rope time after 5races and then 2 horses i've follwoed 3/4s down the cliff decided today was the day!

So all in all yes a good day. Gonna be a better noght though

LOet me know how you got on and i'll read it later. Have to dash..

Glad you had a good day G2D.

I only bet on the last two races just so I could watch them on here. 50p each way

Let's hope there are no more fatalities tomorrow

Still drinking that "mock" stout, your guts will be rebelling tomorrow...!

Ta.

Oi Corky, whatever shoite they are dishing me up it's better than that cockroach píss Murphy's innit..

Have a most wonderful and prosperous day all, and i leave you with a little ditty written by my long lost ancestor; Finn...

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our Bookies dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest Irish.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in Ireland, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the traps,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Lugh, Ireland, and Saint Paddy!

CHAAARRRGGEEE!

Indeed.

Best performance of the week so far? 

Thistlecrack, Very rare ye will see a hoss sprint like that between the last two flights over 3 miles with his head in his chest. Monster performance in a good field..

A day late but hey ho..

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