Wednesday 10 June 2009

And...they're off

Now that I'm working at the coalface of the horse-racing world, I've become acutely aware of how poorly the wretched beasts are named. It's always "Qango Crackers in the 4.10" or "Jamestown Quimty on the stand side". If I owned a racehorse, I'd give it a solid name like Eddie or Justin. I'm sure the punters would appreciate that. Even if Eddie was little more than an outrageously ambitious donkey, people would know he'd given of his best in each race.

He'd be the Bryan Robson of national hunt racing, constantly picking up injuries in his valiant bids to catch an actual horse. Yes, he's clumsy. No, he's not the brightest. But you can't question his commitment. Come on, Eddie, the people's champion.


Unfortunately, Justin developed a headache and had to be destroyed. Still it helps encourage the others. Oh, don't look at me like that. You can't make a omelette without euthanizing livestock. Everyone knows that.

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