Dedicated followers of fashion leave good riders to watch from sidelines

This topic has been discussed on this page before, but if columnists were tasked with breaking new ground every time they sighed a deep sigh at the tyranny of the blank page you would now be reading about the new kitten, or good old John Noakes.

Reiteration is not a bad thing, though, especially when the subject is as everyday as jockeys. We hold jockeys in awe, because they are glamorous and nonchalant and young (ish) and brave, because they look good in multi-coloured polyester taffeta when so many of us do not, because they represent our financial interests on the racecourse and sometimes increase their value, because they risk life and limb on a half-hourly basis and scoff at the alternative.

Certain jockeys are better than others, naturally. There is a uniform level of ability in the weighing room and a few jockeys rise above that to super-stardom, yer Ryan Moore, yer Frankie, yer know. But for the others it is less about being fractionally better than their peers than being fractionally more fashionable.