It's brilliant to be back but we must remember nothing beats being at the races

There is a dishevelled elderly gentleman who never misses a meeting at Navan; five-foot nothing and insanely irritating. He pops into the press room to try to scab a free sandwich and a cup of tea, probably his dinner for the day. He seems to back every favourite and gives out stink about the ride when one gets beaten. I never caught his name and there have been too many conversations to ask now. It is hard to imagine being there next Wednesday without him.

Leading on-course layer Ray Mulvaney has a young apprentice who stands at one of his pitches. Patrick Mulcahy could never lie about where he is from. He has ginger hair and the strongest Cork accent you have ever heard in your life. He is part of the snowflake generation but you would swear he grew up in the 1970s. There will be an eerie silence in the Gowran Park ring next Thursday without him hollering.

There is a hawker who has been selling chocolate outside Leopardstown for as long as I have been going racing. A blonde lady who has been 87 for the last 30 years. She would follow you home if she thought you had loose change in your pocket. I would have been tempted to buy a Toblerone off her on Tuesday.