Okay, now is probably a time to tell a story.
I am 68 years old, and this happened when I was an apprentice, so it gives you a time line.
I was riding a lot of winners, and could ride light, so was in demand. I was riding quite a lot for a trainer whose main owner was a funeral undertaker. He was a terrific bloke, used to do the local football show on the radio every Saturday morning.
So, I would catch the train on the Friday afternoon, and Ross would pick me up from the station. I was terrified the first time, he threw my suitcase and saddles in the back of the hearse.
Of course he was just playing with me.
So, one day my boss got a call, old Roy had a good one running in the cup at a place I shall not mention.

It only had 7 stone something. So, up I went on the train.
Next morning we loaded the old horse on the trailer, and headed west. I had to do about 7 stone 9 pounds so I had eaten nothing the day before and had nothing to drink. As it got to about 100 F I was dozing.
In the middle of nowhere they stopped.
Old Roy and his mate took a matchbox full of white powder and pushed it over the back of the old horse's throat. Well, we won the cup, and it took me another lap to pull him up.
