PACE is apparently key to riding Galway. Ruby described it as a thinking jockey’s track on Monday on RTÉ.

To parse the analogy further he is essentially saying too hard, too soon, and the horse has no chance. The same could be said for punters really. Excessive pace on Monday and the in-running price to safely navigate one’s way to the off time of the Plate will hit the high three figures.

Judging by appearances around the Latin Quarter on Tuesday evening just over half may have heeded the great jockey’s advice.

Accommodation in town is a high stakes game, luxury or torture. For the purposes of sampling the delights of a Galway race evening, it’s perfect. For actually getting any sort of rest, well at the risk of sounding like your Da, this is Galway race week, worry about sleep next week. Sure it’s a Bank Holiday on Monday.

With judgement of pace being so important, finding one’s own level after racing is a punters’ very own GPT. Following Tuesday’s action on the track the early vibe in the city was in places, genteel. Definitely a few dropping out the back in a maiden hurdle kind of way. However, as this is Galway, utter madness is never too far away.

The kids who were queueing at The Róisín Dubh probably weren’t at the races. “It’s a Silent Disco” your intrepid reporter was informed, at the risk of feeling older than a coffin ship survivor the interview was terminated on the spot.

Sneaky naggins

Although hopefully there is more luck punting for the rest of the week than our Silent Disco Dancers’ attempts to sneak naggins of spirits past the bouncers.

On to the Quays and like Aussie Valentine in the Colm Quinn, it was too much too soon.

The scent was a pungent one that most of us only realised existed in pubs once the smoking ban came into force. Anyway, the notebook was empty and given the pace endured by the field in the Quays, there would be no winners coming from this lot.

The Dail bar provided a more suitable setting. A few racegoers who were clearly more seasoned handicappers in attendance. A man in a bar, just after the races having a few pints poring over the day’s racing. It’s magical thing.

Not dissimilar to what Bertie used to say, “ah yeah, couple of winners, nothing too big now, yourself?” The universal language of the punter. Solidarity, drawn together in a knowingly fruitless battle with bookmakers over an inordinately long time.

“Ah yeah, we come every year, we’re local, enough, how long are you down for?” It seems to matter more to the people here on the ground. There is a pride amongst punters going to the Galway races. Like a showing of stamina that would have Stradivarius envious, these men and they are mostly men, will be back tomorrow and the next day, probably through to the weekend. “Ah we’ll see how this yoke runs on Thursday first.”

And they will be back next year, “god willing”, just as they were here last year and 25 years ago. A few minutes chat and back to our pints, contented. They did this with a few others as they passed to and from the bar. Probably an identical conversation. Although then the band started and that killed that. The two gentlemen left.

As the 90s classics rolled, chat moved about to a variety of topics but always coming back to Galway. “He can’t go right-handed”, “hates the track”. “Yeah but what price would he be if DK trained him?”

Talking about Galway in Galway to Galway people, one thing is clear, Galwegians love Galway, but want you to love it too. And we do.