'I will never deviate from the tried and trusted bloodstock script ever again'

Thursday, December 1

I returned home from Tattersalls at around 10.30pm on Wednesday night to find my ten-month old son Blake was experiencing his first bunged up nose so didn’t feel like sleeping much. This meant that, although I did feel like sleeping much, I managed all of a couple of hours of shut eye before I had to leave for Deauville.

Undeterred, and despite feeling like I had a hangover without having had any of the fun, I grabbed my passport and suitcase and made my way across London to catch a lift to Deauville. Mercifully the journey was largely uneventful, bar a minor scare that we were going to miss our Eurotunnel slot, so before I knew it I was over in France and sampling the local cuisine at a road-side service station.

When I think of traditional French fayre I think of butter-rich croissants, a hearty onion soup or an unctuous croque monsieur, but on this occasion I had to make do with what appeared to be the only edible options on offer, a slightly stale ham and cheese baguette and a packet of Monster Munch (the local variety I’ll have you know, I’m not that much of a Brit abroad).