'Is it just me who thinks Davy Russell would make a perfect Voldemort?'

Dancing on a dirty dancefloor that was full of dreams of naughtiness, drinks being spilled, people bumping in and out of our circle, Mr Brightside blaring, and smiles and laughs ricocheting around the dark nightclub on Sunday night, I thought to myself this was as good a weekend as there’s ever been.

Normal felt new. Eighteen of us had gone for dinner and the crew only got bigger after that. Everyone was out. Being at Leopardstown with a full crowd, hearing the crowd roar at the start of the Irish Gold Cup, watching as Honeysuckle was cheered down to the start, listening as the entire stand broke into a unified chant after Sir Gerhard crossed the line, this was a weekend with many moments to remember.

On Friday morning I was disappointed not to be riding in any of the jump races over the weekend but being able to watch them perched in the full stands with a few friends made up for it. Well, almost.