“A difference of opinion is what makes horse racing and missionaries."

A Sunday Quiz – or questions that need answering

Capt. Kneesup

Capt. Kneesup


I am trying hard not to be grumpy, but I fear that I could easily become the younger cousin of that most despicable of all social stereotypes, The Sanctimoanious Suburbanite. Like the Remoaners before them, sufferers simply can’t stop telling anyone who’ll listen, why people in London are the real menace… oh and that Mrs Snodgrass is up to no good and never washes her hands….. and them people what went racing at Cheltenham killed their neighbour’s nan who apart from being 90 and weighing 28 stone had never had a day’s illness in her life since she stopped working in 1953.

Now, however, it looks as though I might have to go into Sanctimoanious lockdown, as I fume at how it is that some pubs in London appear to be able to serve a pie and a pint for you to consume on the towpath, green, or pavement, where you would have stood with your mates on any previous summers day. That was yesterday, just after I got a bit Sanctimoanious about the clues in Saturday’s (ordinary) Telegraph crossword, where I considered the answers Papa and Twee to be words unworthy of the paper.

So by midday today, I was demanding to know:

What is wrong with this picture? Correct, it is the bloody apostrophe. Millions of pounds wasted thanks to the stupidity of some ignorant twerp who had probably spent all day drinking in the pub. I know you’re going to tell that his only mate is ProfessorHabitat-Scatter-Cushion who has three houses and he’s visited them all since March – but really…

If I am a racehorse owner and the horse runs next week and I am not allowed to go – does the racecourse, (money from TV rights being sold to bookies), intend paying for a free day’s pass for me to watch my horse run on one of the racing subscription channels?

Will my Guineas horse, (no I don’t have a horse called Will), run on the Rowley Mile or July Course?

Dominic Cummings: Today, Tomorrow, or Cabinet Secretary enquiry?

I’ve been bitten on the back, in an unreachable spot by some damned insect – thanks for caring – I’ll be better tomorrow. Perhaps Prince William will call me for a caring chat.

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