Three days of drought, sprouts, bubble and squeak can show us how others see us

Three whole days and no racing, starting today. Christianity has a lot to answer for, over and above the Spanish Inquisition and Cliff Richard, but the accursed festive season will be over soon enough and it looks a ferociously competitive King George to end the drought.

The thing with non-racing days is that they give you the chance to reconnect with the rest of the population, remind yourself how non-racing folk go about their lives, without so much as an ante-post voucher by which to navigate their way through the calendar. You soon realise you are very much in a minority.

There will be racing chat in my house over Christmas, but it will be between me and my 'project' son-in-law, who has been indoctrinated as part of a meticulous ten-year plan that actually took about three weeks and surprisingly little effort (which must say something good about the game). We'll discuss the Kempton card over a plate of cold turkey and some bubble and squeak, I'll bet openly online and he'll ask me to bet surreptitiously on his behalf, owing to the fact that gamblers – even decent ones – are discriminated against – even excluded – by banks and mortgage companies, which just goes to show which way the world is headed.