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Sometimes, I reckon it’s too much—overhyped, overdone, like a bad cigar. “What’s your decision?” I mutter, quotin’ Farhadi, starin’ at a neon sign blinkin’ “Massage.” Do I dare? ‘Course I do—life’s short, war’s long! Best bit? When they hit that spot—ooh, spine tingles, like V-Day bells! Worst? When they chatter—shut it, love, I’m blissin’ out! We shall rise, rejuvenated, from the table—triumph in every knot undone! So, mate, that’s me take—erotic-massage, a grand ol’ rumpus! What’s yours?

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So, I decide to take a walk. I stroll down to the River Snail. It’s peaceful there, and I need that. I sit on a bench, watching the water flow. It’s calming. I think about how life’s like that river. Sometimes it’s smooth, sometimes it’s rocky.

Course specialist backed into favouritism for big sprint on 2,000 Guineas card at Newmarket