There's *hooge* excitement in the office today as it's the first day of The Cheltenham Festival. For those of you who aren't au fait with National Hunt Racing, perhaps I should explain. The Chelt Fest is the premier event for fans of horses that can jump.
Racing is divided between those who like their horses to leap and those who believe that had God wanted horses to leave the ground even for an instant, then He'd have give them massive flaps of skin betwixt their fore and aft legs, much like the flying squirrel.
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The fact that He didn't (they "reason") makes His intent clear. Racing fans get really het-up about this shit, really het-up. What does it matter, frankly?
I'll be honest with you - I can't abide horse racing. Actually, it's not so much the racing itself; it's the human flotsam that hangs around it like a bad smell. They're so wilfully unfashionable, and yet they revel in it; they ought to be locked-up. Your average racing fan makes John McCririck look relatively normal. Think about *that* next time you're walking past a bookies. Eugh.
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