Back, Back and Baccy

Somewhere between Lambourn and Aphrodite’s alleged watering hole, both The Hon and I did our backs in, and so it’s off to the back-cracker for some remedial work at £8m a pop. What a business to be in. You’re never healed and once the hands have provided some relief you’re back again and again. At…

QIPCO British Champions Day

A quiet lunch in East Garston, where I see the shoot wagon bringing in hungry souls all sporting long woollen socks and rather bizarrely in one case a pair of Gucci deck shoes. Dinner with friends including my chum Carlisle, in a pub in the Filkins where a log fire blazes. I call him Carlisle…