Oh, to me not drinking is like being dead, almost. I sit here taking endless journeys down memory lane. It gets boring.

What a pity people don't take as much trouble with their own breeding as intelligent racehorse owners do. But then I suppose it is bordering on fascism to think like that.

It's not name dropping, but not many people can say, like me, that they spent the day with the likes of Francis Bacon or that boring drunk Dylan Thomas. You don't forget things like that.

I have stood in a bar in Lambourn and been offered, in the space of five minutes, a poached salmon, a leg of a horse, a free trip to Chantilly, marriage, a large unsolicited loan, ten tips for a ten-horse race, two second-hand cars, a fight, and the copyright to a dying jockey's life story.

I was under the care of a couple of medical students who couldn't diagnose a decapitation.

I don't remember ever being full of dislike and hatred for people, like some kids I've come across now.

Although I have to admit I have despised a couple of people simply because they have never had a job in their lives.