Weblog: What do you mean the Wi-Fi doesn't work? The life of a Racing Post reporter
What a s'well day
Don't believe everything you read in the papers, even - just occasionally, perhaps once every hundred years or so - in the Racing Post itself.
"It's pretty ropy stuff at Southwell today," our pages suggested this morning
Dictionary definition of ropy: "very poor in quality (British informal)".
Now, nobody would have glanced at this afternoon's Southwell card and confused it with a day at the Cheltenham festival.
But there was a 0-140 handicap hurdle with more than half the field rated at least 120.
A novice chase featuring a 140-rated hurdler. Plus four other competitive handicaps on an eight-race card.
As summer jumping goes, this counts as pretty close to top-drawer stuff.
Though you can takes these things too far.
Not sure how many people would agree with Joanna Parlby, MD of the Advertiser group of newspapers, who described Southwell in today's racecard as "one of the country's premier racecourses" - wonder if she meant "one of the county's"?
Her words were included as this was the eighth annual 'Southwell Advertiser ladies day', most emphatically the track's day of days.
And a huge triumph. Over 7,000 in attendance, a modern-day record for a track which can sometimes draw less than a tenth of that to a run-of-the-mill all-weather meeting.
You don't see two dozen people in the queue for a drink at the 'draught bar' an hour before racing on a cold Tuesday in January. Or a large party picknicking outside the adjoining golf club even earlier in the day.
There was scarcely a spare inch of grass either in front of the stand or behind it. The sound of a couple of thunder cracks in mid-afternoon prompted the thought 'where would they all go if the heavens opened?' - and caused one of my colleagues to close the door of the press room, just in case anyone got any ideas.
Nor was it just the numbers that took the eye, though it was notable they all seemed able to enjoy themselves and have a good time at the races without the need for a Thommo or a Matt Chapman with a roving mic.
Each and every one here appeared to have made the effort to dress up. I suspect there will be some dress shops in Nottinghamshire with empty shelves tomorrow.
Though 'dress up' can mean different things to different people.
Such as the (male) racegoer in an Andy Pandy suit. Which was open at the back, allowing him to acquire a painful-looking sunburn from the base of his neck down to the top of his (clearly visible) white boxer shorts.
Or trainer Chris Bealby, who thought he would get into the summer spirit in pink T-shirt and white shorts - he apologised for not having waxed his legs a la Bradley Wiggins.