I woke up at around 8.30am on Saturday morning. The first thing I did was check my phone, which I’m aware is an awful habit to have but I can’t seem to shake it, especially when I know there’s a jam packed day of horse racing to look forward to. I have the Racing Post app so I laid in bed reading through my virtual paper, hoping to find some good value bets. There’s little I enjoy more in life than picking out my bets for the day and it can be a time consuming process – I like to look at the form, the records of the trainers & the jockeys, who the tipsters are backing, who the market is supporting, whether there’s any value to be found in some each-way gambles etc. Sometimes I wish I could be more like my Mum, who picks her horses for a variety of completely random reasons, for example, she backed a winner the other day because it was trained by Andrew Balding and she is a fan of Clare Balding (no relation, unsurprisingly). I’m sure there’s some logic in there somewhere. 

After I picked my horses I went downstairs and made myself a black coffee, which I drank whilst reading this week’s issue of The NewStatesman. Traditionally I have read The Spectator but over the past few years my political views have been shifting ever more leftwards and I now find myself firmly on the liberal-left side of politics, a position that has been certified by my switch of magazines. I often wonder what seventeen year old me would say if I went back and told him he’d be considering switching his support to Labour in just a few years time (it probably isn’t worth thinking about). I had a bacon sandwich and a cup of tea whilst watching an episode of Family Guy – my political views may have matured but my humour hasn’t quite followed suit. Hayley had gone to Hull for the weekend to celebrate Donna’s parents’ golden wedding anniversary so I was in the house on my own. A few years ago that would have automatically meant hosting a “small gathering” but, after my last few in the garden descended into increasingly vulgar games of Never Have I Ever and complaints from the neighbours over “unsuitable language”, it might be some time before I host another one. 

I spent the afternoon gleefully watching the racing from Ascot & Newmarket. I don’t bet for financial gain, I bet for my own amusement, but I cannot deny that it is very nice when you get a few winners and I was around eighty pounds in profit by the end of the afternoon. I had arranged to go on a walk with Liam at four o’clock but the racing was on until ten past so he arrived in time to catch the last few races of the day, which he was visibly overwhelmed by. I often say I’ve never met someone who wears their heart on their sleeve as much as Liam Smith does (no YOU’RE being sarcastic). I think it was March the last time I saw him so it was nice to go on a little wander and catch up with what he’s been up to – we may not be as close as we used to but I will always have plenty of time for Liam, he’s a top bloke if you ignore his dress sense and his personality. 

We decided to have a few drinks at mine in the evening but, as is typical in my life, even this managed to become a drama. We nipped to Egginton to get a few of Liam’s things but I managed to lose my house key during the journey, resulting in a frantic yet fruitless search of Liam’s bedroom & car and the two of us retracing our steps from Hilton to Egginton, after which I eventually relented to the inevitable loss of my key and rang my Nan asking if I could borrow her spare one, meaning a rather irritating journey to Hatton and back, just to get in my pissing house. Nevertheless, once we finally got back inside we spent the night drinking, playing Call of Duty and talking utter shit, just like we used to when we were sixteen and joined at the hip. As time goes by I realise that, as fun and exciting as big nights out are, sometimes it’s nice to just chill at home with an old friend and chew the fat over a few drinks & some video games. Perhaps I’m going soft in my old age. 

I woke up on Sunday morning feeling rather delicate, a feeling which was compounded when I realised I needed to do a rather long bike ride in order to burn enough calories for an afternoon of eating & drinking at The Cow. I did a thirty mile ride and I must admit I came very close to throwing up in a hedge in between Longford and Boylestone. Luckily I managed to avoid such an embarrassing (yet not unprecedented) situation and I did feel better once I’d completed my morning exercise. After showering and grabbing myself a quick snack, I spent a few minutes mentally preparing myself for a day in the company of the infamous Mr Thomas Morley. 

Upon arrival at The Cow, it looks similar to any pub you might find in a small, middle class village in the English countryside. Once you enter the establishment, however, you soon realise it is a pub like no other because, in a tale that’s now embedded into the very fabric of life in Dalbury Lees, it is effectively the second home of one of the two most powerful men in the history of John Port Sixth Form (side note – isn’t it sad when adults are still living their lives through the prism of their immense popularity & towering success during their time at school?). There he is, sitting waiting for me with a pint in hand, perusing the Sunday Lunch menu, wearing a quintessentially gentry striped shirt and a stunning pair of chino shorts. If you ever wish to picture my ideal man, there you are.

We drank, we ate, we laughed, we debated, we reminisced, we pontificated and we had a bloody good time. Sirloin beef dinner at The Cow is everything you’d expect it to be and it tasted even better as it was washed down with a pint of mixed fruit cider whilst we sat in the glistening sunlight. Tom found Viv’s dog running around the pub and returned it to her, he had a brief & awkward interaction with Gary Rowett, he complained about the waiting time without daring to mention anything to the waitress, he criticised the loutishness of some young men who dropped in for a pint, he shamelessly solicited the attention of the manager by showering him with drinks, he complained that his G&T was disgusting and then proceeded to drink the whole thing but, more importantly than any of this, he provided me with a joyous afternoon of non-stop entertainment and reminded me why I consider him such a good friend of mine. 

Our good friend Adam Griffiths-Vernon joined us later on in the evening but, having forgotten to eat, he got quite drunk quite quickly and attempted to engage in some verbal sparring for which he was woefully ill-equipped. His parents arrived shortly afterwards though and I found them to be much more pleasant company than their son – it’s always interesting to meet people’s parents and it provides me with the perfect opportunity for some brown nosing. As the sun set in the distance and our words became ever more slurred, I wondered if it was possible to stay like that forever, the only worry on my mind being whether I was smoking my cigarettes in too quick a succession. Nevertheless, by the time it came to last orders I had been at The Cow for nine hours and my surroundings were beginning to spin around me, so I rang my darling mother and retreated to the comfort of my Hilton residence. 

It’s not a bad life is it really. Stay safe.