Settled down to watch the Dubai World Cup at 5.30pm.

Blinked.

Opened eyes to discover posh bloke prattling on about some 'disa-r-ster' over chocolate.

Rolled off sofa, lurched into kitchen. 6.30pm.

Curses! The curse of afternoon drinking. Curses!

You see I wasn't conscious to cheer Frankie on and even though that Curlin was so the favourite I reckoned I had a good chance each way with Jalil who was never close, apparently. Never mind. Was only the cost of a pint in London.

You can't win them all, eh Celtic.

And now my brother's going to be miffed with me because we stuffed Villa. Oh dear, perhaps I should stay away from sport.