Jamie Moore's lament for his beloved Sire De Grugy was an endearing lesson in mutual respect

If you read the rant I penned recently about affordability checks, you'll know that what's really getting my goat at the moment is the amount of credibility that's routinely afforded to the opinions of people who, to continue in the vernacular, don't know s**t from clay.

The Gambling Commission, for example, would happily try and make pottery from excrement, no matter how unfortunate and socially unacceptable the results, a practice it has in common with this week's bete noire: the 'antis' who try to convince the outside world racing people are all callous monsters who chew up horses and spit them out without a second thought.

Jockeys are in the front line, with their waving whips and very apparent will to win. They're the ones who push and shove and smack, then hop off and retire to the weighing room before coming out and doing it all again. They're easy targets for critics who can't be bothered to contemplate the reality of the relationship between human being and racehorse.