Cheltenham's in the eye of the storm this weekend - at least it knows how to dress for it

A Newmarket trainer once confirmed to me what I'd long suspected: that in racing's headquarters there's a 'sweet spot' in the life of the sport's professionals, between moaning about not enough rain and moaning about too much rain, and it lasts approximately two days. Those two days are presumably spent in a state of bliss, planning optimistic entries and picnicking on the lawn, and then it tips down.

Racing has long had a strained relationship with the weather. At racecourses, we've never quite known what to do with it, because we've never quite emerged from that post-war, 'still a bit military' mindset, where everybody (even children) went round in ties from their old school or regiment and constantly sported a tweed jacket or barathea blazer – probably in bed, as well – lest anybody should think they had even a nodding acquaintance with the modern world.

I've complained about it a lot down the years – about how many summer racing days I've had ruined by rules that insist I cut off all escape routes for body heat to comply with regulations presumably drafted by a non-sweating royal.